Things Change
by MadSix
Summary: After defeating the Reapers, Commander Shepard falls into a five-year coma. When she finally wakes, she finds she's lost more than time. Alternate ending.
1. Losing time

I'm such an awful person for doing this.

All characters belong to Bioware. The angst is mine. Dedicated to James' abs.

* * *

"How long?" A strained voice billows into the darkness behind her eyelids. She is asleep but not dreaming, swathed in a state of near-consciousness, consistently falling short of complete sensory awareness. That she registered the voice at all is surprising, a welcome change from the dead silence that has slowly been sinking her into a murky abyss.

But she knows the voice, even in the vast tomb that refuses thoughts to form properly, she recognizes it. And that, in itself, feels like a blessing. Memories flicker on and off, a glimpse of a hand enveloping hers, three fingers clutching her five. His face. Her words,_ 'I love you, Garrus Vakarian.' _

And then the voice is speaking again, and she can hear it so clearly now.

"Please, Shepard—Jane. You have to wake up. You did it, you beat the Reapers…the whole galaxy owes you their lives. There's a celebration brewing out there, we're just waiting for you to start."

A pause.

"There's still a lot to get done. But you should have seen it, Shepard. The Citadel being pulled out of orbit," a small chuckle, "for a minute there, we thought we'd lost it…Spirits, I can't imagine a worse fate—the Citadel making it out in one piece only to crash-land on earth, lucky we had ships to spare. My people and the quarians went and hauled it back to its proper place. It was…quite a sight. We're still here, Commander, awaiting orders."

Silence.

"I never knew you had so many acquaintances, Shepard. Nearly all of them have sent gifts…flowers mostly, some of which I'm certain I'm allergic to," there was some humor there, "I also went out and found a replacement Widow for you. Not that you'll be needing it all that much now, with everyone getting along so nicely. But well, I know how much you liked yours. It would be unfair to have a fellow sniper go without."

Again, silence.

"My…father and sister wanted to come see you. I suppose father must be wondering why I haven't made it to Palaven yet and Solana wanted to wish you well. I told them it wasn't the time. This…this isn't you, Shepard—Jane. When you wake up, then you'll meet them. Oh and that scene in front of the Primarch…when we kissed? I suppose it might have been seen as a little forward, but he mentioned it to father. No hiding it now," he made a low sound, a throaty sigh, "to be honest, I'm glad for it. And he did take it better than I expected. Still, I need you by my side now. Don't keep me waiting."

For a long time there was no sound. And slowly, she felt herself plunging back.

"Jane Shepard," he was urgent this time, "you have to wake up. I'm begging you. We've been waiting all along—I'm still waiting." The grief in his voice cut like a knife, "You said it once, remember? No Shepard without Vakarian? We talked about heaven, but the doctors say you're neither here nor there. Can you even hear me? Spirits I…"

"It's okay," Shepard mumbled, slightly tripping over the words as her senses kicked in with a vengeance. The sudden influx of stimulus made her dizzy, "I—I'm fine. You worry too much, Vakarian."

She let out a slight chuckle, "You said something about a new rifle?" She turned to the empty space beside her bed, furrowing her brow.

"Garrus?"

She had heard his voice not even a minute ago. Her eyes scoured the room; it was what one would expect of a typical hospital room, four white walls, shiny white floors. The stench of disinfectant hung in the air, and she wrinkled her nose at it. She shifted in bed and felt something odd clinging to her side; she peeled back the sheets and gasped.

A feeding tube? She paled, realizing she might have been in the hospital for longer than she'd thought. "Garrus," she called, pleadingly—as pleading as he'd been when he'd asked her to wake up.

Well now she was wide awake and he was nowhere to be found.

The door to the room opened with a swoosh, and she almost blurted out his name again, certain it had to be him. The woman in hospital uniform met her frantic eyes and said something Jane didn't quite catch until she repeated it again, "Calm down, miss," she placed a hand on her chest, trying to ease her back into the bed.

Shepard resisted. She'd had enough of lying down on that bed and where were her flowers and her Widow and her turian. She voiced these things at once, and the woman called for assistance over her comm. Again, she was urging Jane to calm down. After a brief struggle, it appeared that she would comply, and the woman seemed to take this as a sign to release her.

"Sit tight," she said, pulling the covers over her. Shepard got a good look at the woman—she was young, early twenties probably, and her blond hair was pulled back in a bun. She gave a measured sigh, "Look, I…know this must be very strange for you. But for the time being, we need to keep you calm."

Shepard nodded weakly, "Just…tell me where I am."

The nurse smoothed her fingers over the bracelet on Shepard's wrist, "This is Kingston memorial," she told her, "you're on earth. Vermont, to be more precise."

Jane exhaled, feeling a weakness crawling across her brain. But she had to ask, "Garrus. He was just here, I heard his voice."

The nurse gave her a puzzled look, "I'm sorry. No one has come by for a while…" her words trailed off, and she looked visibly thankful for the doctor that came in through the doors.

"What do you mean? How long has it been," Shepard demanded, the monitor beeping with the same urgency as her voice. "How long have I been here?"

"Commander, I will thank you to keep your tone civil," the doctor said sternly, "your body won't handle the strain."

Jane forced herself back down on the bed, "How long…"

A needle-stab on her arm made her squirm under the sheets, too weak to protest. Her head was swimming before long, and she felt the dab of something along her eyelids. The blond nurse was wiping the tears from her eyes.

_'Five years'_ was the last thing she heard before everything faded again.


	2. Time heals

This one is for the turian councilor's mistress, whom I dearly hope survived the Reapers.

Mass Effect belongs to bioware.

* * *

A week after waking up she gets her first visitor. James Vega makes a stop at the hospital and lays flowers on her lap. He gives her a wide smile and shakes her hand.

"Good to see you're awake, Lola. Galaxy hasn't been the same without you." He's wearing civilian clothing— jeans, dark t-shirt, leather jacket. The distinctive emblem on the jacket is one she recognizes instantly.

"James, it's good to see you," she remembered the talk they had back on the Normandy—how could she not? It didn't feel at all like much time had passed since. "You N7 now?"

"Yeah," he looked pleased at the fact, "best thing I've ever done, well, other than getting to work with you," another smile. From what she could see he hadn't changed much since, probably had more ink done. He was a welcome sight, a familiar face.

"Good to hear," she mimicked his smile, but there were bits and pieces missing. She looked weary, and she'd lost weight, the muscular build that denoted her profession had all but vanished. There was too much ahead of her—therapy, getting used to coming back from another long absence.

"Anyone else come by?" He asked, brows knitting together when she shook her head.

"You'd be the first," she said.

"Well, I'm sure they're on their way, Lola," he reassured, "everyone's been busy, you know how it is."

She nodded, "Yeah."

His eyes lowered, "So are you…okay? I mean, I saw you when they picked you out of the rubble." He frowned, the memory of her broken body still difficult to stomach.

She stared down at her hands, wondering that very same thing herself. This wasn't another Lazarus project, but it had the makings of a dauntingly similar experience. At least she didn't have to wake up to a fight.

"I'm okay, James. Been through worse."

James considered her reply. "Well, just in case, I left my information at the front desk, you need anything, I'm there."

She gave him a small smile, appeasing his concern. "You don't have to, James. I promise I'll be fine. Besides, I imagine you've got enough to worry about."

"Still, if you wanna talk or anything…" he trailed off and Shepard had to admit, he was awfully cute worrying over her. She hoped she didn't look too bad—she knew she had scars, the ones on her arms were easier to see than the ones on her face—but looking frail had never suited her. She didn't want pity and James who always wore his emotions so well showed no sign of it, his concern was genuine. She was thankful for it, maybe more than she could say.

Shepard agreed to keep in touch with him, even if she was aware that being N7 severely crippled his downtime. "Mind if I ask you something?"

James shrugged, "Sure."

It was something she wanted to know since waking. "I don't suppose you know about Garrus."

"Oh, Scars," he glanced sideways, and she had the strangest feeling, like she shouldn't have asked.

"He went back to Palaven, last I heard. Guess I'm not much help," he tugged at the collar of his leather jacket, a nervous inclination. Then, as an afterthought: "Liara is who you'd want to ask about him."

"Of course. Thank you, James."

He left shortly after.

* * *

Days later she begins physical therapy. The prognosis is positive; she'll have full use of her legs…eventually. In the meantime, she's stuck in a wheelchair. She begins to miss the Normandy, the crew. Garrus.

So she trains harder. In her white-walled room, while the doctors and nurses aren't looking, she begins the routine exercises, the ones she's picked up. The sooner she's out the better. When Liara finally visits, she is visibly affected by the sight of the Commander awake and in bed.

"Forgive me, Shepard," she wiped the tears from her eyes, "it has been far too long."

Shepard watches her take the open seat near the bed. "So I've heard."

"This must be very strange for you. I can't imagine what you must be going through," she looked her over, and then said, with something indistinguishable in her voice, "you must be wondering what everyone's been up to."

She grinned, "Good thing I've got the Shadow Broker here."

Liara gave a small chuckle, "Yes, I suppose. But Shepard, I'd like for it to wait, at least until you're walking."

"You're joking."

Liara seemed a little befuddled, "Joking? This is serious, Shepard."

"Come on," she groaned, "I'm out of the loop here."

"I understand," Liara coaxed, stroking her hand, "please, be patient. There are many things to talk about, Shepard, but they can wait until you get better."

"I'll hold you to that, T'soni."

They left it at that. Liara stayed in close contact, kept track of her progress, and visited her often. She was thankful for someone to talk to, even if she couldn't get much out of the Broker. But there was time to reminisce now, and a lot of that kept her sane.

Eventually, some of the crew came by to visit. Joker and EDI, Adams, Chakwas, and even Kaidan. Tali communicated from Rannoch via videofeed, and there was a promise of a visit from Shepard's part. The influx of old friends just made it that more apparent. Garrus wasn't there. How long had it been now? For her it hadn't been nearly a year since they'd last embraced. In her mind, time was warped. Maybe that was why it had been so hard to picture Kaidan in command of the Normandy. It all felt so sudden, so…out of place.

Time passed, days somehow fit together into weeks, and she was mostly walking now. Under her insistence, they were releasing her. Gone were her days in that hospital room.

"They want you in the citadel," Liara informed her as they arrived at the hotel room she'd been staying in. Everything around them was new, from the walls to the flooring.

"Yeah. Figures." Shepard said from the window, the view of the street below had caught her attention. It was astounding to see how easily everything had fallen back into order.

"I'm afraid I won't be with you much longer," Liara said, a little somber, "I still have my duties. But I imagine a lot of people are waiting to see you."

"Liara," Shepard said, turning away from the scenery, determination apparent in her features. There was no denying her request; they both knew it was only a matter of time before they reached the topic.

"Tell me about Garrus."


	3. Aching

This one goes out to the krogan whose Graal spike thrower I did not return.

Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.

* * *

_"Tell me about Garrus." _

The asari nodded, slowly. Shepard rounded the couch and sat across from Liara, who seemed preoccupied with figuring out how exactly to begin. "Well, he's a Spectre now. He left and joined two years ago, he said it was something he had to do."

"A Spectre, huh?" She couldn't help but smile at the thought. It had been what he had always wanted, that it accounted for his absence was secondary, what mattered was that they'd have something else to celebrate when they reunited. She would have to make up for lost time, of course, preferably in his quarters since Kaidan was occupying hers at the moment aboard the Normandy. Not to mention she'd missed his ceremony, maybe she would have to make that up to him too, possibly at once.

Liara continued, "He's been largely successful; his name sometimes passes my feeds, it appears that he is quite skilled with high-risk missions."

"I'd be disappointed if he wasn't," Shepard remarked smugly.

"Yes, he has a lot of responsibility on his shoulders; he has a very important position in the hierarchy, perhaps one day he will be asked to be Primarch."

Shepard furrowed her brow, finding it difficult to envision Garrus settling for a life of political restraints and bureaucracy. He was more suited to jumping out of shuttles, guns blazing and adrenaline pumping, ready to face whatever was lurking on the other end.

"Sounds…honorable." Shepard managed.

Liara gave a slight, half-hearted nod, the gravity in her eyes palpable, "There's one more thing you should know."

Of course. Why keep such basic information hidden from her unless it came coupled with something she wouldn't want to hear. It was suddenly too quiet in the room, and something she recognized as dread settled against her chest, but she pushed the feeling away and asked, "What is it?"

Liara wouldn't look at her when she said it. "He moved on," her voice lowered, "he is with someone else now. I am sorry, Shepard."

"What are you saying?" Shepard demanded, trying to grasp the concept of Garrus leaving her like this. No, it couldn't be—this was Garrus, there was no one else in the galaxy that she trusted more to stay at her side.

The mention of someone else almost hurt worse than the thought of him leaving.

Liara sat beside her, taking Shepard's shaking hand in hers. How else could she say it? There had been no easier way to put it. No way to truly relieve the hurt that was fading into her features.

"Things change, Shepard," Liara explained, keeping her voice strategically calm as the woman left her side to stand near the window. She wasn't contemplating this time; there was grief in her eyes, poignant despite the way her body seemed to withdraw from the room, arms folded across her chest.

"So I've noticed," was her curt reply.

Liara leaned back against the couch with her hands clasped across her stomach. She thought back to those moments when she had visited the hospital room, finding him beside her like a faithful shadow. If seeing Shepard like that had been hard on her, she couldn't fathom what it must have felt for him, who never left her for longer than absolutely necessary.

"He never left your side, Shepard, even if the rest of us did one way or another," she recounted, "we each had our duties but Garrus…he had you, the woman he loved."

Liara went on, "It was killing him, Shepard, to see you like that. He wouldn't admit it, but it tore him apart seeing you so far gone. Commander Shepard, war hero, wasting away in a hospital bed while the whole world waited with bated breath." She gave a long, drawn-out sigh, "He broke down after three years and asked that they disconnect you."

Shepard turned to her, stunned.

"I agreed with him," she confessed. "We did, in fact. But then you started breathing on your own, still fighting after three years, there was nothing else we could do but wait and see. He left after that. I understood his reasons, we all did."

Shepard's arms dropped to her side, "I need to see him," she said urgently.

"Of course," Liara joined her by the window. Red clouds bloomed over the horizon, the setting sun casting its last rays over the city. It was almost difficult to fathom that there had ever been a time when they thought they wouldn't be alive to see such a sight. She wrapped an arm around Shepard's shoulders, "I am sure he is just as anxious to see you."

She drooped her shoulders. "What's stopping him?" she asked, though by now she could think of a few good reasons.

"Work," Liara said, skillfully avoiding the subject, "and perhaps he is waiting for the right time."

* * *

That night, sleep avoided her. There was too much on her mind, about Garrus and whoever the hell he was with he now-she hadn't bothered asking, didn't know what she would do with _knowing_. She turned over in bed, stifling a complaint; her legs ached, like she'd been running for miles. She was in such terrible shape it was pitiful, Joker could probably wipe the floor with her in hand to hand.

Liara's voice interrupted the mess of thoughts running through her head, "Feeling alright?"

Shepard turned her head. In the dim light she could see the asari sitting up in the bed adjacent to hers.

"Fine," she mumbled, "just…a lot on my mind."

Liara shifted in her bed, "The doctor prescribed you some medicine, for pain and in case you were having trouble sleeping."

"How thoughtful," she was about to decline but decided forced sleep was better than staying up thinking about her—what was he now? Her ex? No, that would imply they had both consented to breaking it off. She groaned, "Just…put me out of my misery. Maybe even for good."

Within minutes the medicine began to have effect, dulling her senses and plunging her into a dead sleep.


	4. Empty handed

A/N: No work till Friday. Expect more updates.

Mass Effect belongs to Bioware. The angst, as usual, is mine.

Now, I'm not saying **G** will show up in the next chapter, but maybe **G** will show up. In the next chapter.

* * *

"Anderson," she mumbles in bed, as Liara is packing things around her. She pauses, looks back at Shepard, and shakes her head, "I'm sorry Shepard, he didn't make it."

Her head swells painfully as she glances in Liara's direction, averse to the sunlight drifting in from the open window behind her, "I…figured." She tried to ignore the pang in her heart, tried to push it to another day, another time when she could mourn for the loss of the only father she had ever known.

"What about the rest of my squad?" she asked groggily, still under the effect of the medicine.

"They made it out alright, all of us did," Liara sat on the edge of the bed, "they all just want to see you get better."

"I'm trying," she whispers, eyelids suddenly too heavy. She drifts off again into dreamless slumber.

* * *

They would be taking the Normandy to the Citadel. Spectre Alenko had cleared up an otherwise busy schedule to transport his old commander. Shepard was thankful that their trip to the shuttle had been relatively uneventful; Liara had informed her that news of her return were being withheld until her appearance on the Citadel, but it was difficult to ignore the way her face flashed across the holo-signs on municipal buildings in between newsfeeds and other information, as if ensuring that they, to some extent, remembered who it was that fought for them.

It was good to be back on the Normandy, even if she didn't recognize most of the faces onboard. At least those in engineering were familiar enough, and Chakwas was still managing the medbay. Upon arrival, Liara had excused herself to find an itinerary with Joker—she'd be taking another ship to Hagalaz after they docked at the Citadel—and Shepard had wandered the vessel for old time's sake.

"Commander, glad to see you on your feet." Chakwas commented, as she entered the medbay. Whatever the Normandy was to her now, it had been home. And as David Anderson had been father, Karin Chakwas had been mother.

Shepard grinned, "Glad to be up and about, I didn't think it would take so long."

"It's quite normal," she told her. "You were in a coma for five years; it will be a while before you're at optimal capacity."

Shepard leaned on one of the counters, "You're kind of bumming me out here, Karin."

Chakwas patted her shoulder, "It wasn't my intention, Commander. But you should consider the fact that your body has its limits," Shepard gave her a glum look, to which she reassured, "lucky for you, your extensive cybernetics will be invaluable in helping you recover faster, but for the sake of your friends and the people that care about you, try to avoid any stress."

"Fine," Shepard relented, though before she could say more, Chakwas abruptly pulled her into an embrace. "I will be retiring soon," she said softly, as they parted, "it would have been an honor to have seen you in action once again, but I fear I'll have to be hearing about your exploits from somewhere more…terrestrial."

"Retiring?" Shepard shook her head, as if the thought was amiss. It was hard to picture the Normandy sailing on without her; she had been a constant presence since the very beginning, had seen both its demise and its reincarnation. Realizing that she had missed those last years with her on the Normandy made her eyes sting.

"I'm afraid I'm not as young as I used to be," she said, her voice filled with resolve, "I have no regrets, Shepard. The years I spent on this ship have been the best years of my life."

"I understand," Shepard finally said, finding it impossible to muster up the smile she so wanted to convey. "The Normandy won't be the same without you," she managed.

"Goodness nothing's been the same around here," she declared, "I will admit no preference between you and Alenko, but things are certainly not as lively around here. Anyway, Dr. Michel is just as capable of taking care of things around here."

"The Citadel doctor?"

"Yes," Chakwas settled on her chair, "in the grand scheme of things, she and Alenko became involved. It will be much easier on both of them now; I imagine he will be visiting the medbay much more often."

She watched Shepard for a moment, before adding, "I recall you were quite fond of the main battery."

Shepard grimaced, "That…didn't turn out the way I'd hoped."

"I always thought you two made a great pair," she said, smiling affably, "in the end, even if it feels like it, something built out of so much trust and support can't possibly fall apart in the span of a few years."

Shepard nodded quietly, the doctor's words comforting. "I can only hope."

"Or, if hope fails, you could always change his mind."

Shepard gave a small chuckle, "I never knew this side of you, Karin."

"At my age it doesn't hurt to be direct," she replied, "and sometimes, matters of the heart require as much courage as any battlefield."

* * *

Joker turned out to be a dead end. By the time she made it to the cockpit after speaking with Chakwas, his orders were clearly to avoid any topic relating to the last five years.

"You're being ridiculous," she told him, crossing her arms.

"He's not being ridiculous," Kaidan said, coming up behind her.

She threw her arms up, "Then you're _all _being ridiculous. I have never kept anything from any of you."

She turned to Kaidan, "I never hid that I was working with Cerberus, even if it meant losing your trust. And Joker," she turned to the pilot, who held his hands up defensively, "you've been with me since the very beginning; I thought you'd be on my side."

"Commander," EDI chimed.

"What?" Shepard demanded, exasperated. They all turned to see EDI stand from the copilot seat in that graceful, efficient way of hers.

"Your posture suggests fatigue, care to have a seat?"

"Oh," Shepard sighed and uttered a word of thanks as she sat, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Look, I understand what you're all trying to do here, but I'm _fine._"

Kaidan seemed to consider her words, "It's just, with all you've been through, can we really be sure you'll be alright?"

"I'm a soldier, Kaidan," she said simply. "I can handle it."

Kaidan and Joker exchanged doubtful glances, but Kaidan ultimately relented.

He began by explaining the first peril Earth had faced after the reapers. The Citadel, though largely intact, was apparently beginning to drift towards Earth. Turian and quarian ships had hauled it back into the Serpent nebula without much incident.

In the weeks that followed, however, mercenary groups decided to raid the surviving vessels—due to staggering losses, this turned out to be an easy feat. A month passed before they retreated back into the Terminus systems. Five years later, however, they were still dealing with them in scattered droves along Citadel and Allied space. Something about the staggering loss of military resources across so many homeworlds made them especially vulnerable to attacks, easier to plunder. The worst was the ransoming of refugees and other evacuees.

"You'd think by the time we won the war we'd all be holding hands singing kumbaya," Joker added, with a shake of his head, "some things never change."

"This is all my fault," she rubbed her forehead, "I'm the one that brought them in to fight the Reapers, if I had known…"

"It's more complicated than that, they're opportunistic," Kaidan quickly said, "they would have come either way, using the chaos. You made a call, and I think for the most part it was the right one."

"I can only hope that I had enough foresight to make the right calls," she said, staring out at the window overhead, watching blue tendrils of energy dancing across the panel. Too much had been at stake.

* * *

They were docking at the Citadel. Liara had gone ahead to secure passage and Shepard had stayed behind to say goodbye to the rest of the crew.

"Take care of her, Kaidan," Shepard said, as they waited for the doors to open. "The Normandy is yours now."

"I will, Shepard. I promise." They embraced, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from tearing up. Her goodbye to Joker had been a brief nod and a handshake, anything more and she was certain she would have turned into a babbling, sobbing mess. Jeff knew her well enough to sense that she was trying to keep her composure and had offered a passing remark about staying in touch via extranet.

"Be careful," she said, mustering up the authority, "keep your six covered and trust your instincts, never go into anything alone."

"Yes ma'am." He saluted her, and she returned the gesture.

Behind her the doors opened and she turned to meet the C-sec officers in charge of escorting duty. She gave one last glance at Kaidan, one last look at the Normandy through the glass panes on the docking area.

For the first time in a long while, she felt she had nothing.


	5. Relic

I was going to change the Council out completely, but I like Sparatus and Tevos so much, I'm keeping them. I figure they had a decent chance at reelection. The thing about the salarian councilor is that since salarians are so short lived...i figure he wouldn't be around too long after the Reapers ;_;

Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.

* * *

The human councilor, a woman who introduced herself as Irma Peletier, greets her with practiced formality in her private chambers. Shepard opts to sit back and listen to her drawl on about the ceremony, they have planned for her in light of her victory. It is to be a highly decorated event, with many important names attached to the guest list.

"Some ceremony," Shepard remarked dryly, as the woman ended her descriptive tirade. "I'm not making a speech, and you can forget about that dress you mentioned."

The councilor raised her brows, somewhere between thoroughly offended and mildly surprised, "I would imagine the savior of the galaxy would have something to say."

"Yeah, not happening." Shepard was hardly in the mood for anything, to be honest. The councilor should have been happy she was planning on attending at all.

She watched Shepard for a moment, as if gauging her thoughts. "I was told you were hard-headed, miss Shepard," she said, her voice maintaining its diplomatic composure, "but, I didn't get here without learning to compromise when necessary."

Shepard leaned forward, "What kind of compromise are we talking about here?"

"You either wear the dress—which, as I mentioned, is a gift from a very respected asari matriarch—or you sit down with my assistant and write a moving speech worthy of tears."

"_Tears_?"

"Tears," she affirmed, "I want not a dry eye in the room."

'That's easy; I'll just tell them about my love life', she thought, bitterly.

"It'll be the dress, then," she said.

Irma clapped her hands together, smiling. "Perfect. I will be seeing you in five hours. You have your room to relax. I want you at your best."

Shepard nodded and stood up to leave.

"A word of advice," the councilor said, before she could go any further. "When you find yourself out in the open, know that not everyone welcomes your reappearance."

Shepard lowered herself back on the chair, beckoning her for an explanation.

"People want to forget the war, Commander," she explained, as if it was both a thing that she understood and did not like, "many want to forget that we came so close to complete annihilation, that our existence was so fragile. Many lost everything. We have been steadily moving on from thoughts of that possibility."

"I'm a reminder of that." Shepard said blankly, her stomach reeling.

"You are a relic, Shepard," she intoned, "of a time when everything came so close to ending."

Shepard resisted the urge to scoff. At this point, she wouldn't be surprised if she had a bounty on her head. Things were really that bleak.

There was nothing more to say, so she left for the privacy of the room she'd been allowed to stay in, though relaxing was the farthest thing from her mind.

* * *

The few hours she had to herself she spent in her room, trying to configure the terrifying ambiguity of her situation. Her professional identity had been wiped with the loss of the Normandy, the lack of communication from the Alliance, and the fact that she was certain her Spectre status had been pulled from under her while she was comatose. She had never felt so uncertain. Even when she was grounded five years back for the relay incident, she knew she still held a place somewhere.

Now…well, what was there to do now but wait?

Eventually, the stylists showed up at her door with the dress carefully in tow. She had no choice but to allow them to maneuver her into the draped attire.

"I think we're missing a few parts here," she grumbled, hating the way the front dipped dangerously low. It was a wonder the fabric hanging just over her breasts stayed in place, but she didn't like to take chances with propriety. Her back was left completely bare. "I feel…_really_ exposed."

"It will be fine," one asari stylist said, tightening the dark sash around her waist. The dress was floor-length, silver in color, and in a style that was apparently all the rage in high asari society (like she cared).

Her hair was pulled up, away from her face, and someone went over the scars on her face and arms with concealer. A few added touches and she was allowed a few moments to herself before Irma would appear to usher her away.

She moved toward the open balcony, the humor wiped from her face. She slouched in her dress and rested her elbows on the metallic railing. The view, she had to admit, was impressive.

"Shepard."

Her blood ran cold with the sound of his voice. She spun around and found him standing on the threshold in his formal attire. His face was solemn, but for her sake, he managed to loosen his mandibles in a brief smile.

"Garrus." It was more a gasp than an utterance.

"It's been a while. You look..." he glanced briefly at her dress, "good."

He joined her at the balcony, at arm's length. The notable distance made her ache.

She forced herself to look away, to avoid his gaze. There was lament in her eyes; her words were stained with it. "Is it true?"

He sighed, "Please, Shepard. Not here, not now."

"_Is it true_?" she asked again, tone urgent. He remained silent; staring out into the buildings below, shoulders slumped, avoiding the subject altogether. Shepard wasn't having it. She'd had enough of people avoiding the subject.

She did the only logical thing and punched him on the shoulder. Hard. He staggered a few steps back and steadied himself on the railing. To the small part of her mind that wasn't completely wrapped up in this shitstorm of feelings and sentiment, it felt amazing.

"Say something!" She demanded, because silence, in a way, was worse than outright denial.

"What do you want me to say, Shepard?" he asked dully, his hand still gripping the railing. She was incredulous, because he should know by now what she wanted him to say.

She closed the distance between them, pulling him down by his cowl, so that their faces were level. "Please, Garrus," she said softly, her voice tinged with more desperation than she cared to admit, "just…say it was a mistake and we can pick up where we left off."

"Shepard…"

She pressed herself against him until she was certain he could feel the rising rhythm of her heart, "Kiss me," she pleaded.

_You grab the girl, and kiss her like you mean it. _

"I can't, Shepard," he murmured, the low tones of his voice scraping against her chest, "I'm sorry."

She pulled away, visibly wounded. But she had to know, even if it would kill her on a whole new level, "Who is she?"

He shook his head, "It doesn't matter."

The councilor appeared on the doorway just then, looking mildly surprised at finding Shepard with company. "Apologies, I did not mean to interrupt," her eyes darted to the two, sensing the tension but choosing not to comment upon it.

"I was actually just leaving," Garrus said quickly, "enjoy yourselves."

"You as well, Vakarian," Irma called, before turning back to Shepard. "You look good, Shepard. They're waiting."

'Great,' Shepard thought, realizing that he was probably heading to the same place. She wondered if it was too late to back out of her own ceremony.


	6. Unavoidable

My goodness, so many theories on the identity of G's new lady (all perfectly feasible, I might add.) At least we'll know now, and I'm curious to how it matches expectations.

* * *

As soon as she made it onto the ceremony—which turned out to be more of a social gathering in her honor—she made it her first priority to scope out the perimeter for something to drink. There was no way she was going to get up the nerve to walk amongst a bunch of politicians and high society snobs without some liquid courage. She found a salarian carrying a tray and ambushed him, making off with a glass of champagne—the good stuff, by the taste of it.

"Commander, long time no see," a voice said behind her, she stopped mid-gulp and turned to find Commander Bailey. She quickly shook his extended hand, "It's been too long. Glad you made it out in one piece."

He chuckled, "Yeah, out of one frying pan," he motioned to the people around him, gathered in clusters and talking over the soft hum of the musical ensemble, "and into another. I assume you're not too fond of these affairs either, quite a drink you've got there."

"No, and I'm just getting started," she had planned her whole route around the salarian serving drinks, she'd only pretend to keep on bumping into him, of course, to keep up appearances. "I heard about the evacuation. Impressive stuff, you managed to save the council too."

He tugged at the collar of an expensive-looking suit, "Nothing really worth mentioning. It's all about protocol, really. You're the one whose story is really worth telling. Anyway, I better get back, I'm here on security detail too, guess it's the only way they could justify letting me in."

She nodded, "Good luck."

She finished off her drink and glanced around, finding the salarian serving up drinks to a group. Behind her, a table littered with delicious and foreign looking foods was being stocked. She decided to swoop down and grab a few pastries while her salarian finished refilling his drink tray.

"Huh." She frowned at a rather large basin filled with water and floating dish-shaped disks with strange frothy toppings.

"Oh, you don't want those," a decidedly feminine voice said behind her. She turned and was surprised to find a turian eying her with amusement. A _female_, you didn't see those every day. She was striking; her markings a pale white—centered around her eyes and drawing out into her shorter fringe.

"Unless you want to vomit later," she said after a brief pause, picking one up with an air of civility. "It's called Amatise, made from a fungus that grows on Palaven, a delicacy among my people."

Shepard frowned, "Ah, that…doesn't sound very appealing."

The woman chuckled with a slight flare of her mandibles, "To each their own, I suppose."

Shepard nodded, and the woman politely excused herself just as Shepard caught sight of the salarian.

"Got anything stronger?" she asked, grabbing a drink from his tray. The salarian shook his head, "No ma'am. I mean, I could look—"

"Nah, just keep em coming," she said and quickly downed the one in her hands, taking another before moving on.

Shepard made it a point to keep moving, avoiding people as much as possible. For the most part, it was brilliant, but there was no way to avoid the meaningless chatter altogether. She hated the way they would pull her into a group, asking her about the time she did this and that like there wasn't already a biography written about her (as she had found out earlier, when she'd autographed a _paper_ copy).

After having refilled her glass for the billionth time, Shepard eventually found herself next to the turian councilor, who turned and greeted her, "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, his tone undeniably pleasant for a change.

She nodded, "The food's not bad. Tried the amatise yet?"

He seemed a little bewildered, "No."

She lifted her brows at him, "Turian delicacy, you know."

"I... am aware," he glanced down at the drink in her hands, "I hope you are behaving yourself."

She shrugged, "As much as I possibly can," she looked back at him, "you know, you and me, we need to go drinking sometime."

He seemed thoroughly amused at the thought, "It would be a fascinating experience, I'm certain."

She tipped her glass in his direction, "And you would be correct."

"Shepard," he said, leaning close so that she could hear him through the orchestra playing in the background, "you are clearly intoxicated."

She gave him a crooked smile and caught a glimpse of the turian woman she'd run into earlier. Her eyes followed her as she joined a group of asari, who greeted her with noted enthusiasm. It was only when Shepard noticed who followed closely behind her that everything came to a hard stop.

He must have been doing an incredible job at staying out of her way because she hadn't seen him all night. Hell, with all the drinking and salarian-stalking, she had half-suppressed the memory of their earlier encounter. Now, it came back with a vengeance, and she realized she had answered her earlier question.

That's who 'she' was.

Shepard felt a hard lump at her throat and forced herself to turn her attention back to the councilor, the anguish in her eyes too apparent for him not to notice something was wrong.

"Look, I…" her hands were shaking; her mind too incoherent to figure out what the appropriate feeling was for the situation. Panic, for the time being, seemed to be what she was settling into. That and the sudden need to get away—fast. "I _really _have to go."

He glanced behind him, curious to the cause of her distress. Through the crowd, he noticed the Primarch's niece standing in the company of Spectre Vakarian and instantly understood.

He turned back, a note of apology in his voice, "Shepard…"

She was gone.

* * *

The salarian was coming out of the kitchens with refilled drinks. He smiled when he saw her heading for him, "Back for mo-"

She grabbed his arm, turning him around and leading him back into the kitchens. He gave a short, nervous laugh, "S-shepard, what-"

She hushed him, "Listen, I need to get out of here, preferably without anyone noticing."

He noticed the urgency in her voice, and became alarmed. "Is something happening?" he asked, wide-eyed.

"It's not like that," she muttered, setting down the mostly drained glass she'd been holding a little too tightly, "Listen…I just can't be here. Just take my word for it."

He was silent for a moment, but nodded. "There is the back door where the staff comes in, but you'll have to be quick. I imagine they would recognize you."

She nodded, "I appreciate this."

"You helped my brother on Ilium, it's the least I could do."

"Ilium?"

"It was years and years ago, I don't really expect you to remember," he said, "you shot down the mechs that were attacking the workers in one of the buildings he was working in."

_The salarian worker on Nassana's building. _

She nodded to show she remembered, "Of course," she gave a mirthless chuckle, "things were much simpler back then, believe it or not."


	7. Drowning

I apologize for the wait, work has been killing me.

Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.

* * *

The back door was thankfully unguarded, not that she could say the same about the rest of the exits in the building. There was something odd about the level of security, but she imagined it was to be expected with the kind of names that were on the guest list.

Regardless of security, she couldn't be here. Not with him.

Somehow, perhaps through divine intervention and careful, strategic sneaking—she had been—_was_—an infiltrator, after all—she managed to slip into a cab without anyone noticing. Quickly, she drove it off the lot, realizing she was probably the shittiest role model for driving intoxicated, and thanking advanced technology for AI-mediated steering. Eventually, she found herself in a bar on the lower part of the wards— the Archos— where the volus bartender understood the self-pity in her eyes well enough to offer her a few drinks on the house.

She sat, slumped over her seat, ignoring the inquisitive glances she was receiving from the patrons. She was dressed far too nicely to be sitting in a sleazy bar alone and miserable. Her only saving grace in all of this was that she hadn't cried, not once. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. But god, she'd come close.

Liara had always turned her down on information about the other woman, insisting that it wasn't her place to say. Now she understood her reluctance—it was harder this way, knowing who it was sharing his bed, taking her place. Five years gouged out of her existence—she'd made her peace with that. Finding the Normandy under new management, she could understand; the Alliance had missions to fill. And her friends had lives to live, people and places to go back to.

But losing him…she wasn't prepared for that. Not like this. Not when it felt like only weeks since they'd had that final quiet moment to themselves before they marched towards certain death. Had he really forgotten all of that? Did he even realize how much he meant to her?

She drowned the drink she held between her palms, quick to blame the bitterness of the liquor for the way her eyes watered. She set down the glass with a heavy hand and glanced over her shoulder, at the turian that was staring at her with something short of amusement.

She hadn't even noticed him sitting next to her; she'd been too busy wallowing in her sorrows to observe anything past the glass in her hands. Still, through the daze of alcohol he wasn't bad looking, and maybe she didn't mind that he was looking at her.

Maybe she even needed the distraction.

Shepard noticed his eyes settling suggestively on the tightly drawn sash at her waist, and despite her better judgment, she straightened up on the seat for his benefit. His mandibles flared, and his eyes met hers.

"Buy you another?" he asked, resting an elbow on the countertop. He made a quick motion to the empty drink in front of her.

Shepard nodded, and he signaled the bartender for another round. He leaned closer as their drinks were being served, "So what's a woman like you doing in a place like this?"

Her eyes flickered to his, holding them for a moment before she turned back to her drink, "Enjoying the atmosphere," she said dryly.

"Doesn't look like you're enjoying much of anything," he noted, then with a grin, "someone I should know about?"

"I'd rather we skip the subject," she said, pleased that her replies were the right amount of coherent and casual. Maybe if she kept piling on the alcohol, she'd be downright apathetic.

"Oh?" now he really seemed curious, but thankfully, he knew to drop it. Instead, he opted to lean in closer, so that his face was inches from hers and the low tones in his voice seemed to hum evocatively against her eardrum, "Wanna get out of here?" he asked, his voice tinged with implications that weren't altogether reputable, "maybe I can help you forget about it."

He settled back on the stool, green eyes watching her. On any other night, she would have declined him, one night stands—interspecies or otherwise—didn't interest her. But tonight she was feeling impulsive, and this turian wanted her. More than she could say about Garrus.

"Something on your mind?" she asked suggestively, eyebrows lifting slightly to show she was interested.

He stood and smoothly guided her to her feet, placing a hand on the small of her back to steady her. He led her through the exit, though she noticed the searching glance he cast over his shoulder as they left.

* * *

"What's your name?" Shepard whispered, her voice oddly disjointed, though whether from the drinking or the compelling sensation of his body moving against hers, she couldn't say. His mouth was pressed on the curve of her neck and his mandibles tickled against her jaw as he replied with a stirring tone, "Doesn't matter." He gripped her hips unceremoniously and pinned her against the wall, her head tilting back as she gasped in surprise.

She only faintly registered that they were on an elevator, their destination becoming increasingly irrelevant with the pace of his tongue against her skin, his fingers stroking the curve of her back as he ground against her at a dizzying pace. She had enough sense to know how to return his advances—her hands reached up and began to stroke the leathery flesh beneath his fringe, eliciting a pleasured growl that reverberated from his chest. She shuddered with mixed excitement as she felt his teeth ghosting over her skin.

"Do you like this?" he growled, his breath hot against her exposed neck, fingers curling around her hair.

"Yes," she breathed, absorbed in the feeling of his slender body against hers. He withdrew slightly with pronounced hesitation, facing her. "You certainly are a very interesting woman, Commander." She could not deny the predatory glint in his eyes as they met hers.

"You know who I am?" she asked with mild interest. He gave her a look of amusement that was almost unsettling. "You really don't know anything, do you?" His voice was laced with something indistinguishable that she distrusted immediately, "I'm disappointed, Shepard, that you let your guard down so easily. It's almost like you want to be captured. Do you realize how much you're worth?"

* * *

"A word, Vakarian," Sparatus said, drawing him away from the Primarch's niece. The concern in the councilor's voice was unmistakable.

Garrus regarded him with inquiry, "What has happened, Councilor?"

"Nothing," he said, casting a glance at the guards stationed by the doors, they seemed unaffected by anything. "At least, not yet," he gave a sort of indicative glance at Garrus, "you know Shepard best, Vakarian, if she would want to leave this place without alerting the guards, could she do it?"

Garrus felt the blood rush from his veins, "Yes," he answered, realizing what he was getting at, "don't tell me she…"

"Perhaps she hasn't," the Councilor said quickly, "but in case she has, it is best to alert C-sec."

"This is my own fault," he growled, desperately scouring the crowds as he moved towards the stationed officers, "I should have warned her."


	8. Protection

**Chapter 8 is here! And now I'm off to bed. **

**Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.**

* * *

"Is that a threat?" Shepard challenged, eyes flickering to the panel beside the door. They had arrived at the top floor, the parking garage she'd driven into when she arrived. Instead of relief, however, a note of panic seeped into her; it had been empty before, and if things went south—which might very well be the case here— there would be no one to call for help.

"I'm not the one you should be worried about," he told her, holding her gaze momentarily.

Shepard wasn't convinced. The alcohol may have affected her earlier judgment, but there was something strangely sobering about knowing your life was in immediate danger. Either from this stranger or whatever was waiting outside.

"Who exactly is after me?"She asked impatiently.

He seems to be stifling a smile. "I'm honestly surprised no one bothered to tell you."

She shook her head, clearly displeased. "People have a hard time letting me know anything these days."

"It's mercenaries, mostly. You must have pissed the wrong person off, you're worth an incredible sum," he said, "and now that they know you're in the Citadel the opportunity is too good to pass up."

She fell silent, considering his words. Further than that, she considered the man standing in front of her. He didn't seem to be interested in harming her, and the only thing that she had to be pissed off about was that he had dry humped her in an elevator before telling her why he had lured her away from the bar. Still, she would approach the situation with caution.

"I'm Ferox, by the way," he added, with a small flick of his mandibles. He allowed the doors to open without further delay.

Shepard stepped out of the elevator with him, "It's empty," she said, noting that they were the only ones here. "You said something about mercs?" she said skeptically, feeling a chill from the open sky. She stopped a few steps away from the elevator, more than ready to take it back down.

"Still don't trust me?" he asked, though he didn't seem the least bit offended. She figured it took more than admitting her distrust to wipe the complacency off his face.

She shook her head, her face grim. "No reason to. "

"I will get you out of here in one piece," he assured, his open hand held out for her to take. It was a strange gesture, coming from him. "As it is, I doubt you could stand much of a chance against anyone." That last part was painfully accurate.

"You're saying I don't have much of a choice?" she asked.

He grinned, "You always have a choice."

Shepard sighed, too drunk and too tired to deal with this sort of crisis. Any hope she'd had of making the best of a shitty night had long been shot dead, and she figured she had nothing to lose at this point. Except maybe her life.

Gingerly, she took his hand. If he was willing to get her out of here, maybe she could spare a small particle of trust. She wasn't letting her guard down, though. Not if she could help it.

His arm curled around her waist, and she tentatively accepted the layer of heat against her skin. It was oddly comforting, being this close to his body. This was a different closeness—nothing like the needing, urgent clashing of their bodies back on the elevator—this was support, protection. And even if she would later deny it, she liked it. Shepard wasn't sure she liked him—she'd known men like him before, too bold and too cocky for their own good. They'd never been her type.

His grip on her loosened as they got to the skycar, "Where are you staying?" he asked, "I can drive you there."

"I'll be fine," she replied flatly. Then, looking up at him, "Why are you doing this?"

"I said I'd get you out of here, didn't I?"

"There has to be something else," she said, doubt swimming in her eyes.

"Turians," he said pragmatically, and with just a little bit of smugness, "are big on commitment."

Five years ago she would have believed it. Now it seemed like some half-assed attempt at an explanation. "Forget it," she said, peeved. He gave her a mild look of inquiry as she turned away from him, opening the driver's side door.

Her attention was instantly drawn to the blinking cylinder on the seat of the car.

"Shi—"

At first, she thought it was the blast that threw her backwards onto the hard ground. Looking up, however, and finding his face level with hers— his body shielding her from the explosion—she realized he'd pulled her away at the last second.

Her heart was racing, and she was certain at this proximity he could hear it, but she was unharmed. Roughly, she was lifted to her feet, pushed against the metal siding of another vehicle.

"Stay down," he ordered.

The parking garage was filled with the roar of bullets flying in their direction, ricocheting against the side of the vehicle.

"Wasn't planning on throwing myself into the line of fire," she retorted.

Ferox gave a short laugh. "Just making sure," he said, "I've seen how impulsive you can be." His eyes trailed down and he flashed his teeth in a grin, "You're showing, by the way."

He cupped his hands over his bony chest, as if she needed any more initiative to realize that the dress—the dress she hated more than anything in the world—had malfunctioned in a particularly horrifying way. She quickly covered herself, face burning and dignity tattered.

"You're a jerk, you know that?"

He shrugged, "I'd believe you if I hadn't just saved your life."

"How many are there?" she asked after a long pause. She couldn't shake the feeling of helplessness, wishing for a rifle and some armor instead of the flimsy, draped garment she was wearing right now. They were both obviously unarmed, but as it turned out, Ferox was a perfectly capable biotic. The Commander in her was impressed by his battle prowess—his taste for strategy over raw power. He carefully picked his targets, increasing the effectiveness of his attacks.

"Six," he answered, "now down to two."

"Think we can make it?" She tried not to sound too hopeful.

He shook his head, "No, they're too well equipped. One's an asari," his mandible twitched, "bet she's good looking."

She rolled her eyes, "_Focus_."

He chuckled, "Copy that."

As soon as he saw a break in their assault, he used a shockwave to propel a row of cars into their line of sight, effectively creating a distraction.

"Not bad," she called, as she hastily climbed into the seat of a nearby vehicle. They were in the air before the doors sealed completely.

He quickly changed gears and they propelled forward, but not before a blast sent them rolling sideways. The vehicle stumbled in midair, Ferox barely maintaining control. It was a last ditch effort to keep them—her—from escaping. Ferox quickly assured her that they wouldn't attempt to kill her—she was more valuable alive. She almost asked what part of that was supposed to make her feel better.

Shepard held tight to her seat, "What's the damage?" she asked, looking behind them. Smoke spiraled from the rear. Not necessarily a good thing, but at least they were no longer being shot at.

And they were away from the parking garage now.

"Sensors are screwed," he replied, "but we'll make it far enough for C-sec to get to us."

He added, with a chuckle, "They really want you, Shepard."

She nodded, slowly. "Yeah…" she looked him over, at the faint apprehension in his eyes. He somehow managed to let his mandibles slack carelessly, seeming completely at ease despite the situation. She turned her attention to the window, listening to the odd mechanical glitches behind them, where the blast had knocked a few things loose. It was a wonder they were still in midair. She allowed herself to relax, to finally allow the fatigue to show on her slumped shoulders.

Shepard frowned as she felt something running down her left side, the liquid warmth pooling on her lap. Alarmed, she pressed her palm over the spot and gasped when her hand came up covered in blood. She looked down and found the front of her dress smeared with it. How had she not noticed her injury? Adrenaline, perhaps? She groaned as her vision blurred, the faint ringing in her ears that she had attributed to the grenade going off at such a close proximity now increased to a deafening tone.

"…Shepard."

It was Ferox, but his voice was distorted and there was so much blood coming from the gaping wound at her side that she vaguely toyed with the idea of bleeding out in the seat, in front of this complete stranger. Garrus' face flashed across her mind. What would he think of losing her for good this time?

And then she blinked and everything was back to normal. The blood was gone, the ringing in her ears muted. She was left in her seat, breathless, with a layer of sweat across her forehead.

Ferox was looking at her intently, the purest expression of worry on his features. The car was still. They had landed and she hadn't even noticed.

She pushed herself back against the seat, shaking, gasping. Her hands were still pressed against the vanished wound, and she quickly removed them.

"It's okay," she said softly, after a tense moment of silence. But it wasn't. Nothing was further from 'okay' than this. The questions formulating behind his eyes were apparent, but he didn't voice them. At least not yet.

"C-sec will be here soon," he told her, keeping a close eye on their surroundings in case they had been followed. It was unlikely but not impossible. "They've just received our coordinates."

"…Good," she breathed, now completely exhausted. She needed this night to be over.

* * *

Shepard doesn't understand why they let him escort her back to her quarters, or even why he volunteered in the first place. "Former C-sec," he tells her when she looks like she's about to ask. He flashes a grin, "Guess that makes me trustworthy."

They neared her door, and she stopped short of entering. "You know, you could have just told me I was in danger. You didn't have to…" she trailed off, remembering the elevator, "do all that," she added quietly.

He laughed, "It wouldn't have been nearly as memorable. Besides, I heard you were partial to my species."

She shook her head, about to say something to the effect of it not being his business whom she was partial to, but the gravity in his eyes silenced her. It was that seriousness about him that she found unusual, "Are you planning on telling me what happened back there?" Her freak-out on the skycar hadn't been forgotten, much to her displeasure.

"Nothing happened," she answered evenly. It was a blatant lie, but her tone sufficed to say that she was done talking. He passed her a look of mild dismay, but he eventually twisted it into a wry smile.

"Get some rest," he said, nodding towards the room. "And for your own sake, don't be so reckless, I might not always be there to get you out of trouble."

"I'm not making any promises," she replied, "but thank you."

* * *

His omnitool beeps before he is out of the building.

Garrus.

_"What happened? Is she alright?" _He sounds tense, and Ferox can picture him pacing as he places the call.

"Yeah," he replies. "Nice job letting her know she has a bounty on her head by the way, very commendable."

Ferox can hear him exhale through the speaker, _"Things…got a little complicated. Good work on keeping her safe. I owe you one." _

He is serious for a moment, "If I hadn't been there—"

_"I know."_ Garrus says dejectedly.

"Then don't let her out of your sight, Vakarian. I shouldn't be doing your job for you."

_"I'll go see her now." _

"She's exhausted," he informs him, his voice heavy with implications, "it was a long night for the both of us, I wore her out completely."

The alarm in Garrus' voice is priceless, _"Ferox. Please tell me you didn't…"_

"I did say I did your job for you," he says, invariably pleased with himself, "and I was very thorough."


	9. Prospects

**I think this is a good time to thank all of you for the wonderful reviews. I am truly humbled by the feedback and hope that you continue to enjoy 'Things Change'. **

_*On a further note, this was originally supposed to be a Sparatus/FShep fic. _

**Mass Effect belongs to Bioware. **

* * *

Shepard stumbled into the bathroom, bending over the sink and turning on the automatic faucet. Feebly, she reached for the jar of pills on the counter, taking one white tablet in her mouth and cupping her hands under the water, drinking greedily until she had to catch her breath. For the next few moments, she was motionless, bent over the sink while the water circled the drain.

She couldn't shake the unease.

"_Get a grip, Jane_," she breathed, but every time she closed her eyes she saw it; the blood, the ugly stain on her dress, and the panic seemed to instill itself in her once more. Now all she wanted to do was to fall into that dreamless sleep, to forget the gnawing feeling feeding on the back of her mind. Worse was that this panic, the sweat-inducing hallucinations—_waking nightmares_—were things she had to face alone.

Before, there was always someone to talk to, Joker usually—though not exclusively—and after some time there was Garrus, always so in tune with her state of wellbeing that it was practically second nature. She ran her fingers through her hair, fingernails raking across her scalp. Now he was so out of reach it hurt to even think his name.

Slowly, she pulled herself up, half-stumbling into the next room, barely managing to lower herself into the bed. Everything hurt. She couldn't remember the last time she had felt so utterly spent. Running around the galaxy recruiting members for a suicide mission had been exhausting, but this…this was something else completely.

She maneuvered herself out of the dress and threw it across the room, settling against the covers. She stared up at the ceiling until finally, sleep took her.

* * *

"So how are you feeling?" Sparatus asked, as he took a seat across from her. He had extended an invitation to his office, with certain matters needing to be discussed. Oddly, he didn't look one bit displeased at her sudden departure from the ceremony, quite the opposite could be said for the human councilor, apparently. Sparatus had given her a fair warning moments ago and she had a feeling it was the reason she hadn't presented herself to Shepard today.

"I'm all in one piece," she stated, "maybe a little hungover."

He gave a small nod, "To be expected. Your drinking skills are…notorious."

She shrugged, feigning indifference. "What can I say? I have my talents," she gave him a smile. "My offer for drinks still stands, Councilor."

He chuckled, "And I will certainly take you up on it. Though I will have to bring armed guards, it seems you have a way of attracting trouble."

She shook her head feebly, at the absurdity of _that _situation in particular. Last night had left a bitter taste in her mouth and she wasn't quite ready to recall the details.

"But you're fortunate, I will give you that," he amended, with a flutter of his mandibles. "To be honest, I'm more curious as to how you came across General Corinthus' son."

She blinked, mouth suddenly agape. "General…Corinthus?" Of course the name was familiar. Landing on Menae and raising the Primarch had been no small feat, and she had yet to forget the General that had assisted with that matter.

Sparatus raised a brow plate, "Spirits, you were not aware?"

"F-ferox?" She had to say his name outright, to verify that they spoke of the same person. But of course they did. She knew she'd seen those stunning green eyes before, on someone else, on a slightly different face.

"…Yes. Ferox is General Corinthus' son. Did he not tell you himself?"

"No," she admitted, infuriated. "That bastard." Was it because he thought she would not remember his father, or because it wouldn't be as 'memorable'? For someone that brought her up to speed about the price on her head he certainly kept more than a few important details to himself. What ever happened to honesty?

"I'm sure he had his reasons," the councilor offered, though he seemed mildly perplexed.

"Yeah," she muttered, dismayed. "I'm sure."

"There is another reason I called you here." He said, leaving the subject.

Shepard settled her hands on her lap, "I'm trusting you to be straight with me."

"You deserve that much," he noted. "It's about your Spectre status. It has, over the years, been revoked."

"Figures," Shepard commented dryly.

"Has the Alliance contacted you? They were the ones that confirmed that you had regained consciousness, I imagine they—"

"No," she interrupted, clearly bothered by the fact. "No one has bothered to contact me."

"Surprising, but understandable," he explained, maintaining his diplomatic tenor, "Admiral Hackett stepped down not too long ago, I imagine whoever is in his place has other priorities."

Her shoulders dropped slightly, "Makes sense, I guess."

"Shepard, there are other options for you," he said, as if trying to clarify something that might have passed her mind. "Civilian life is always a practical choice. You would be well taken care of, your living expenses paid for. It would be…a nice change of pace."

Shepard frowned. "You mean retire?"

Sparatus made a sort of shrugging gesture, "It would certainly be well-deserved. You have an impressive record behind you; the Blitz, Sovereign, the collectors and, of course, the Reaper invasion."

She sighed, "Yeah, but—" It was all too much to think about, too much to consider given that her prior plans for retirement had fallen through since waking up and finding out the other half of the plan was now preoccupied with a startlingly pretty turian female.

The turian councilor continued, "After all you've done, perhaps you could stand to find a new way of life," he paused for a moment, "maybe you could even settle down." It was not completely out of the question, though given her prior relationship with a certain turian, it might have been unimaginable for her at the moment.

She fixed her eyes on his. "I'm not retiring. I'm a soldier…I'll never be anything else."

"Well, you certainly are committed," the councilor admitted, "but you've been gone for five years, Shepard. It will be a while before you can be fully conditioned to fight, let alone return to your Spectre status."

"So I'll train," she said, determined. "I _will _get back what I lost."

He gave a brief smile, "I'm certain you will. You have a record of doing the impossible, and it's a small feat compared to what you've accomplished. Given our limited resources, the other councilors have agreed that the best course of action is if you, Shepard, receive your training under the guidance of a Spectre."

That was, for once, a welcome surprise. Her expression eased.

Sparatus looked at her gravely, "I need you committed to this."

"I will be."

"Regardless of personal matters," he pressed.

Shepard gave a firm nod, "Regardless."

"You will be receiving your training on the turian ship _Saphrax_. It is currently under the command of Garrus Vakarian."

She felt the blood drain from her face. As much as she would have rather avoided seeing him after last night, it now seemed as if she'd be seeing a lot of him from now on.

The turian councilor gave her a stern look, "I assume this will not be a problem?"

She straightened up on the chair, wiping the flustered look off her face with some success. "No, of course not."

"Good," he stood, prompting her to do the same. "It was pleasant having you in the Citadel again, but I suggest you begin preparing to board. In the meantime I will send word to Spectre Vakarian that you have accepted his offer."

Shepard was speechless. "_His _offer?"

He fixed his eyes on her, "It was his idea. The Council merely sanctioned it. Do you have any objections?"

She shook her head, "No," she answered quickly.

He clasped his hands together behind his back, regarding her with quiet solemnity. "Shepard," he began, his voice lowering a fraction, "for your sake, put aside whatever happened between the both of you."

"Yeah," she whispered, curling her fingers into fists. "I will."

Doubt filled her—how could she face him when every time she thought of him she felt a sense of betrayal? The thought of being in the same ship with him made her anxious. But there was too much to gain from joining him, and the offer felt like the only way out of this ambiguity and into her old line of work. Whatever his reasons for extending it, they had nothing to do with love. Only duty. Of that much she was certain.

Shepard uttered a few words of sincere gratitude and left, her mind a blur. She loved Garrus, and that wasn't going to change any time soon, but she had to get through this, even if it meant denying her feelings.

She had a lingering suspicion that she was off to a rough start.


	10. Moving on

**Totally meant to have this out sooner. Apologies.**

_+I'll also be posting another Fic after I hammer out the next chapter. Just sayin'_

**Mass Effect belongs to Bioware.**

* * *

Garrus startled awake into an empty room, taking the briefest of moments to register that his mate wasn't with him. His mouth hung open, mandibles trembling with every labored gasp, sweat damp between his plating. In his dreams, they took her. There was no chance meeting with Ferox, no one to protect Shepard. The mercenaries had been successful, and this time, instead of watching the images of Sayn on the newsfeeds—his broken, tortured body a product of Jona Sederis' wrath—it was Shepard he was seeing.

A shudder escaped him. He loosened his grip on the sheets, his joints sore from having grasped them for so long. He rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, trying to clear his thoughts. Nightmares had always been consistent in his dreams, hardly surprising, given the things he had seen. It was only when they were about Shepard that they became far too vivid, too unsettling to think nothing of.

But they all told him one thing-Losing Shepard again wasn't an option.

The door to his cabin opened just then, and Varia sauntered in, reading from a datapad. She looked up at him with inquiry when she noticed he was awake. "I thought you would never rise. I was going to call the medic in another hour."

He gave a small, almost humorless chuckle, "I'm fine, just a little worn-out."

She set the datapad on his desk, "I can't imagine it was from the party, if anything it should be from all the pacing you did after we left."

He turned away from her prying gaze, reaching for his uniform. She sat on the edge of the bed.

"You care for her a great deal," she noted. "Perhaps I should be concerned?"

His eyes flickered to hers, "No. Of course not."

"Really?" she asked skeptically. "Even after you've invited her to your ship?"

"That information was classified," he scolded, making a note to increase the security on his terminal.

"I won't tell anyone," she promised, "but I'm not leaving the subject. Garrus, you are making a mistake bringing her here."

"I owe her this."

Varia shook her head, "You don't owe her anything, even if you feel like you do." She went to him, her hands stroking the fabric of his uniform. Her violet eyes met his, calm and regal. "You can't keep letting this drag you down forever."

He folded his fingers over her hands, "I know," he replied, feeling a tinge of guilt that she could read from his face. She nuzzled him endearingly.

"I love you, Garrus, and I would never reproach you for helping her. But her mind, her feelings for you still call back to five years ago. You're asking too much of her…too much of yourself." She paused, going over her words. "I'm afraid that she'll pull you back," she confessed, pressing her forehead to his chest, "and you'll let her."

Garrus exhaled, "I wouldn't hurt you like that, Varia, and Shepard… she isn't like that. But I need to keep her safe, you must understand that."

Varia stiffened in his arms, "I wish you would allow the Council handle it."

"Shepard was never the type of person to hide, even under the pretense of civilian life—that is all the Council would have to offer," he told her, "at least here she would have a chance to make progress on her training." He paused, dipping his face so that they were level. "The Sapphrax will protect her; keep her out of sight. I just need you to trust me on this."

Varia nodded, though the doubt in her eyes lingered.

* * *

Shepard wasn't surprised to find Garrus waiting for her outside of her apartment. Security had since been sent away and it was just the two of them in the long hallway.

"Vakarian." Shepard greeted him with a curt nod. It was how she regarded the most unlikeable official, not with open hostility but with cold distance and just a little effort to mask her distaste.

"Glad to see you're alright," he said, ignoring her tone.

"Yeah," she replied coolly. "Long night."

"So I hear," he mumbled, averting his gaze as Ferox's smug grin flashed across his vision.

She paused by the door as it slid open, "Is there something you need?" she asked impatiently. "I'd like to pack."

Garrus studied her face, the way she kept her features from showing anything besides her cold disposition. "I just received notice. I'm…glad you decided to join me."

Shepard gave him a long look, "So why'd you do it?" she asked, entering the apartment. "I can't imagine it was easy to convince the Council to put a recovering soldier on a ship."

Garrus followed her into the balcony, watching her lean against the railing, her back to the sprawling Presidium. "You're not just any soldier, Shepard, the Council knows that. But we need to keep you safe without drawing too much notice, the Council has agreed to send out false information regarding your location."

"And all I have to do is stay cooped up on your ship," she muttered, almost distastefully.

"You have a choice," Garrus reminded. "The Council did give you other options."

"_One _other option," she corrected. "And I'm not about to retire." She gave him a quick side-glance, noting his disheartened features, hating the way her heart pulsed in longing. Under any other circumstances she would have been grateful for the opportunity. _Should _be grateful now, regardless of what had broken between them, if she was truly set on putting this whole mess behind her.

She changed the subject. "So how bad are things out there?"

Blue-gray eyes stared out into the scenery below them, hands loose around the railing. "Bad," he said. "Every time we take down one mercenary faction, another one appears. Their numbers are increasing on the Terminus systems, and they've been crossing over into Council space more often."

"And the bounty on my head?" she asked.

"Jona Sederis—do you remember her?"

Shepard gave an affirmative nod. "Yeah—Wait, don't tell me she made it out alive."

Garrus managed a bitter chuckle, "All the good people we lost inside the Citadel and that crazed lunatic makes it out alive."

Shepard shook her head. "Guess I didn't exactly make a good impression on her when I left her in that cell. Explains why I'm suddenly worth money."

"Jona has one of the largest mercenary groups in the galaxy," he informed. "Now that she knows you're alive she'll turn her attention to finding you."

She lifted her brows, "Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

Garrus looked at her with quieted amusement, "We're not putting you in any danger, Shepard, as a matter of fact, we're using your sudden reappearance to give out false information on your whereabouts. We're biding our time before the final push."

"Sounds fun," she gave a crooked smile. "I'm in."

"Good to have you onboard, Shepard," he said, extending a hand. It was a gesture not unfamiliar to them, one that had been exacted at a time when Shepard was Commander of the Normandy and Garrus was just a C-sec officer asking to join her.

Shepard shook his hand, "Good to be onboard."

Their arms dropped to their sides, and for a moment, they stood there in silence. Garrus exhaled, mandibles fluttering slightly. "Look, Shepard, about…us."

She looked at him indifferently, "There is no _us_, Garrus. Not anymore."

"I wish things were different," he said, the self-loathing in his voice palpable. He lowered his eyes, his penetrating stare filled with lament. "Not a day goes by that I don't regret leaving you."

"But you did," she said pointedly, despite her better judgment, "and then you were too much of a coward to let me know in person."

"You're right. You didn't deserve that," he sighed. "I won't make excuses. I can only apologize for the way things turned out."

"There's no sense in holding grudges," she said quickly, recovering her resolve. "As far as I'm concerned, you and I are as good as strangers."

Something stirred in his chest, caustic and aching. He had to ask, "Is that really all we are now?"

She ignored the muted disappointment in his eyes, the way his voice wavered. Her words were final, resolute.

"You moved on, Garrus. It's time I move on too."

He nodded, somehow managed to part his mandibles in a smile. "I understand, Shepard. And thank you, for not shutting me out. I know I deserve worse."

Garrus excused himself and left her to pack, informing her of their imminent departure. She had an hour's time to get everything together, which was far more than she even needed—her things were packed in less than ten minutes. She headed into the bathroom and undressed while the faucet ran.

Under the steady stream of hot water, she collapsed on the tiled floor and wept.

At first, it was for Garrus, for the promised future that had been lost in the blink of an eye. And then for everything else that had accumulated to this—from Anderson to the friends that were no longer with her, names and faces etched into memory forever. This was the first time she had cried for them—truly mourned for them—and it now came at a time when she felt so worn, so old and tired that every sob felt like it would swallow her completely.


	11. Outset

**Alright. Here it is. I'm debuting a new ME fic this weekend, so...[Censored for shameless self-promotion.]**

* * *

Shepard slung the duffle bag over her shoulder and proceeded down the docks. On her way, she had made the decision to stop by the numerous shops and buy herself supplies, including food rations to be delivered to the ship. She had been assured by the store clerk that the Sapphrax already received rations certified for human consumption, but Shepard was adamant about receiving more quality in her diet—as well as booze. Besides, she had the money.

And, because she was sick of having to put up with long hair, she'd gotten a haircut from one of those posh places that you usually had to book for—she hadn't needed a reservation and the cut was gratis since the owner had recognized her (the perks of saving the galaxy). She ran a quick hand through her hair, enjoying the way it settled a little higher than her shoulders.

When she saw the stationed Sapphrax, she took a moment to look it over. Compared to the Normandy, it was smaller in size, built with the familiar characteristics of a stealth class. But the design was fundamentally turian, from the functional angles and layered paneling to the practical shape of its hull.

"So what's the verdict?" Garrus asked lightheartedly, coming up from the docks behind her. He paused beside her and she noticed—with some aversion—that Ferox walked lazily behind him, one mandible fluttering in a crooked smirk as he caught her eye. She quickly turned away.

"Looks good," she answered. It was the truth too; the ship was beautiful, impressive. But it wasn't the Normandy, and as a consequence, she had to actively try to summon some semblance of enthusiasm to calm her nerves. This was the first day of boot camp all over.

"Don't worry," he muttered quietly, the low tones of his voice still far too appealing. "You'll know your way around in a minute."

His words were surprisingly reassuring. She managed a smile. "Good to know," she answered, staring at the Sapphrax again. "Can't say I've ever served on a turian vessel before."

Garrus chuckled affably, "It's not much different, really. To be honest, I wasn't too sure what I'd gotten myself into when I first asked to serve on your ship."

Shepard felt something heavy settle on her chest. She couldn't help but look at him. How long had it been now since she'd first encountered him on the Citadel? It seemed like some faraway dream now. Perhaps it was better to keep those memories at arm's length.

"You did just fine," she replied earnestly. Garrus seemed short of speaking, as if wanting to add some self-deprecating quip about how he was just following orders—his usual unassuming dialogue. Instead, however, he turned to Ferox.

"I understand you two have been acquainted?"

Shepard seemed less than eager to admit anything. The same, however, could not be said of Ferox.

"Hard to forget being pulled away from a night of drinking to fight mercs," he recounted. "Wasn't all bad, though," he added, flashing Shepard a grin as she failed to recall ever pulling him away from anything. She passed him a glare that Garrus barely missed.

"Well, I'm glad you both made it out in one piece," Garrus said, leading them towards the entry point on the ship.

Shepard adjusted the strap of the duffle bag on her shoulder and followed, falling into step with Ferox.

"Figured you'd be here," she muttered under her breath, eyes meeting his.

"I thought you'd be happy to see me," he said in an equally low voice. "I did save your life back there."

Shepard looked ahead. "You weren't exactly honest with me when we met."

They entered the decompression chamber, standing in a nearly awkward silence before the panel on the door turned green. Garrus ushered them inside, and Ferox gave her a faraway look before departing.

On the bridge, she met with the pilot, a woman who introduced herself as Aelia. Shepard was just getting the hang of seeing these svelte, regal counterparts to the male turians she was so used to seeing. She tried not to bring too much attention to the fact as she shook the woman's hand.

Aelia gave a quick flick of her slimmer mandibles, "It's good to have you on the ship, Commander. I'm eager to hear about your endeavors," she gave a humorous look at Garrus, "the Captain doesn't do them enough justice."

Garrus chuckled, "And here I thought I was doing a damn fine job."

Aelia giggled, a pleasant, harmonious sound, "Only because we respect you far too much to say otherwise." She turned to Shepard. "You're welcome on the bridge anytime."

"Thank you," Shepard said, finding she rather liked this pilot.

"Pay no mind to my husband when you see him," she called out from her seat as they turned to leave, "he's bound to make you autograph something."

"Husband?" Shepard asked as Garrus led her down into the deck.

"Yeah. Will down in engineering," he answered.

Will? She blinked up at him, "Are there many turians named Will?"

Garrus shrugged, "None that I know of."

Before she could ask anything else she was introduced to the crew posted around the deck. For once she was in the minority, surrounded by tall, lanky bodies and fringed heads with flanging voices. She didn't mind it terribly, she generally liked turians, but she found them difficult to read at times. Garrus had been the exception, all those years by each other's side they had learned to read one another without even thinking.

"So, what's our destination?" Shepard asked, her hand on the railing of the galaxy map. Garrus stood straight, hands clasped behind him. "We're making an unexpected trip to Palaven first," he informed, looking as if it was something he didn't feel like admitting right at this moment. Shepard found it odd, inwardly deliberating whether or not to inquire further.

"My mate," he said reluctantly, averting his eyes, "has decided to join us for a while; I don't know what she's thinking, showing up to the ceremony without telling me first, now this…" He forced himself to look at her. "Shepard, I know this puts you at an odd spot."

Shepard gave a short laugh, "Are you afraid we'll get together and talk bad about you behind your back? Honestly, Garrus, it's your ship, do what you want."

Garrus seemed to ease up a bit, "I still feel I owe you some sort of apology."

"You don't," she said abruptly. "What you do owe me is a tour."

"Of course."

They went down to the crew deck next, where he showed her the mess hall, adding interesting tidbits about her surroundings and the crew. Quite a few of them had served on Menae, some during the time she landed to retrieve the Primarch. She was greeted in much the same manner as the upper deck; with respectful nods and a few, scattered salutes.

"Feel like dropping off your things?" Garrus asked, motioning to her bag. It wasn't even that heavy, most of the supplies she had bought had been delivered prior to her arrival, but she gave a short nod.

"Sure. Where am I staying?"

He led her towards across the mess hall, towards what looked to be the main battery. She wondered if he still calibrated the main guns himself, it would be charming if he did.

The room just off to the left was where she'd be staying.

"This is…are you sure?" She asked skeptically, looking around. The room wasn't anything particularly special, but it was better than a bunk by far. And while she was thankful for it, there was something nagging at the back of her mind.

"It was Ferox's idea," he told her, watching her set her bag down beside the window. She turned to look at him, surprised. She immediately felt the burden of knowing she owed him, of all people, something.

Garrus continued, "I had a perfectly good bed set up for you in the crew quarters—comfortable too—but he outright gave up his room." He shrugged, "I can't say I wasn't surprised, but it might be for the better, you need your privacy."

She walked around the room, "So Ferox, he's your…"

"Second in Command," Garrus informed. "A damn good soldier too."

"Yeah," she sat on the bed, thoughtful, "guess I can't argue with that."

She glanced up and found his gaze trained on her, a question formulating behind his pale blue eyes. Last night's events hadn't just been limited to a merc ambush, and somehow she figured Ferox hadn't been particularly tactful when recalling the events.

"So, you and Ferox," his voice was nearly hushed, as if saying it any louder betrayed the strict professionalism they had both agreed to.

The doors behind Garrus opened just then, and the man himself showed up, green eyes flitting between Shepard and Garrus. Sensing the mood, he tossed Shepard an unrepentant grin and looked at Garrus.

"You have a call in the conference room, sir."

"I see," he glanced at Shepard mildly. "Guess our tour ends here, for now at least."

"Duty calls," she stood and managed a brief salute.

Garrus turned on his heel and strode out, Ferox in tow.

Shepard settled back down on the bed, laying across the mattress for the hell of it. It was comfortable, though not any more than the bed she had occupied back on the Citadel. The sheets were made of a hardier fabric too, she noted, and couldn't help but recall having had to special order a new set—turian standard— for her bed on the Normandy after Garrus started paying his nightly visits.

Those memories felt so out of place now. She shouldn't even bother bringing them back.

She hoisted herself up out of the bed and began unpacking. She had only barely arrived on the Sapphrax and already she was aching for the Normandy. She scolded herself for being so weak, but what could she do? She had lived and died on that ship, _home was that ship_.

"Enjoying the room?" A voice spoke behind her. She had been packing things into the small closet by the bed, too preoccupied by the task to notice Ferox leaning against the doorframe, his head cocked sideways.

"You didn't have to do this," she told him, motioning to the room. "I would be just fine in the crew quarters."

He gave a small shrug, "Maybe. But we don't have any rules against fraternization, might be a little hard for you to get any sleep that way...and humans sleep quite a lot."

"Makes sense, I guess," she mumbled, trying to push away further thoughts on the matter of fraternization. Then, on the latter comment, "What's wrong with eight hours of sleep?"

"Seems a little high," he shrugged, "difference in species, I suppose. I get by on four."

She lifted her brows, "Four?" Even Garrus usually slept six hours, though she had the odd feeling he did it for the sake of keeping her company. "What do you do with all those extra hours?"

He chuckled, "Same as everyone. We do have a fully stocked gym onboard and a shooting range. You'd like it."

"A shooting range,?" That definitely piqued her interest. "I haven't fired a gun in five years, I wonder if I'm any good anymore."

"I suppose we could always find out," he said with an air of carelessness.

She looked up at him, a head taller than her and definitely as handsome as he'd been when she was drunk. A smile reached her face, "You bet."


	12. Level

**You guys are wonderful, your reviews give me the warm fuzzies. Thanks for waiting, as always :]**

**Mass Effect belongs to Bioware. **

* * *

The training room is a flight of stairs from the engineering deck, an open area that—according to Ferox—has a place sectioned off for target practice. The temperature shifts as they make it down to engineering, becoming noticeably cooler. Turians keep their ships warm, around 80 degrees compared to the standard 70 on most human ships.

"Ready for this?" Ferox asked, as they crossed the hall leading to a stairwell. Below them, through tinted windows, Shepard could see a few soldiers standing around the open gymnasium. She paused in quiet contemplation, and found a head turning up to watch her from below. She held the steely gaze for a moment before turning back to Ferox, his prior question not forgotten.

"Please," she emphasized, "remember who you're talking to."

Ferox gave a throaty chuckle and led her through the door.

Shepard couldn't shake the feeling that she was under scrutiny. The turian she had seen just moments ago must have called attention to her sudden appearance here, because six pairs of eyes were watching her.

"It's all over now," Ferox teased as she came to a stop at the foot of the stairs, "they've seen you."

"Who are they?"

"Wanna meet them?"

The group had relieved their attention, turning back to a lively sparring match. One particular turian—the one whose gaze had held hers—stalked around the pair exchanging measured blows, mediating.

"Maybe later," her eyes turned away, back to Ferox, "wouldn't want to interrupt."

"You wouldn't be," he said, "it's just standard practice. But if you're eager to show me how the Great Commander Shepard handles a gun, I wouldn't mind seeing it upfront."

"I wouldn't say great," she mumbled as they entered the room a few yards away, the closest thing to the stairs, "but I get the job done."

He stepped in after her, giving her a moment to take in the room. It was spacious, walls lined with a respectable assortment of weapons; pistols, assault rifles, shotguns—there was even a newer classification of the Widow rifle mounted on a shelf. The target lineup was more than halfway decent, considering they were on a more compact ship.

"This is…wow."

Ferox leaned against the weapons bench, "Figured you'd like it."

Shepard looked over the weapons with marked enthusiasm. "I could have used one of these back on the Normandy," she commented, "you know, for the stress relief."

"Really?" he teased, "I thought Garrus had that covered."

Shepard crossed her arms, "You trying to make me blush there?"

He shrugged, "What if I was?"

"You'd have to do better than that," she said plainly, turning away from him and picking up a handgun.

"Well now," he said with renewed interest, "I can't help but feel that was a thinly veiled challenge." He watched her load a thermal clip into her chosen weapon with delight. She gave him an objecting glance as she moved to the lineup.

"Don't even think about it," she warned, ignoring his conspiring grin. "Besides, I don't blush."

He chuckled, "Doubtful. But sure, we'll pretend for your sake that you lack the ability," he shrugged and joined her in the lineup. "I'd still like a challenge."

Shepard lifted a brow inquisitively, "Yeah? What's on your mind?" she asked, and then regretted voicing the question because it was very likely that she wanted no part of it.

"If you can hit your target five times consecutively," he began with a relish, "I'll give you full access to our databases."

"Why would I want full access to turian databases?"

"So you're not the least bit curious about what we've been up to? There's only so much you can learn from him," his head tilted upwards, hinting at Garrus. "And there are the reports on your condition…"

That last part perked her interest. "And if I lose?"

"You give me a straight answer about you and Garrus."

She frowned. "You're willing to trade sensitive information for _that_?"

"Curiosity isn't a trait unique to humans," he said simply, "and I'm interested—should we shake on it?"

"Forget it," Shepard muttered, taking aim. A single bullet tore through the metallic target, making a perfect round indentation a few inches from the center. It wasn't her best, but had room for error since she _was_ out of practice.

Ferox followed suit, quiet for once. After their thermal clips were depleted, Shepard stepped away from the lineup, putting the pistol back in its place.

"Did I offend you?" Ferox asked, putting his own weapon away.

She folded her arms across her chest, looking directly at him. He seemed to absorb her expression, trying to decipher the thoughts gathering in her mind.

"You didn't. But I don't make it a habit to discuss personal matters."

"Understood—and I apologize," he motioned toward the door. "Care to continue the tour?"

She nodded, "Sure."

It was a different pair sparring this time. Shepard was amazed at the agility displayed by the duo, a mixture of kicks and jabs thrown in with a respect for form and effectiveness.

The turian rounding the pair lifted his eyes from the duo, mandibles fixing to his face grimly as he saw Shepard and Ferox nearing his group.

"Clovis," Ferox greeted with a courteous nod. "Sir, I'd like to introduce Commander Shepard."

The duo halted their training, straightening up as they heard the name. Even the small group behind the grim-faced turian seemed to pay special heed to the woman. Clovis, however, seemed less than impressed as they stepped up to meet him.

"Good to meet you, Sir," Shepard offered, extending a hand.

He glanced down at it curtly before looking back at Ferox. Shepard pocketed her hand awkwardly.

"She looks weak," Clovis said, his gravelly voice edging towards disdain. Shepard shifted slightly, feeling a tinge of contempt at his words.

"Have some respect," Ferox's clipped reply was a silent warning. Clovis, not one to be challenged, stepped forward, and Shepard could practically taste the tension. She was convinced this would boil over into a fight—an actual full-on brawl—as they stood with their faces mirroring, their eyes locked. She was going to have to get in the way before it scaled any further.

The standoff, thankfully, came to an abrupt end. Shepard felt nearly breathless when they both mutually backed off, as if she'd been holding her breath this whole time.

"You'll have to excuse him," Ferox said, his voice returning to its normal, placid state. "He forgets he owes you his very existence."

Clovis scoffed, "That may be," he said stiffly, "but this is a warship. Not a vacation spot. I'm not here to entertain retired war heroes."

"I'm here to train and fight." Shepard said firmly, taking two steps forward.

Clovis looked down at her."In this ship you get what you earn, and your mistakes count heavily against you."

"Then I'll prove myself," she muttered, the resolve in her voice absolute.

The turian cackled. "There may be fire in your eyes yet, Shepard," he remarked. His grin disappeared. "Show me that it means something."

He went over to the center of the mat, standing where the pair had been sparring before. She felt something catch in her throat, doubt perhaps, but ignored it.

"So how does this work?" She asked, stretching quickly and measuring her opponent. She knew full well she was at a disadvantage here, but there was no way she was backing out.

"I'll make it simple for you," he replied, "the first one who hits the mat loses."

Shepard gave a quick nod. "Got it."

The only female from the group offered to referee. She rounded them for a moment, letting them size each other up.

"Begin."

He lets her take the first shot, knowing it's a rookie mistake to take the bait. Shepard moves forward—aware of this—and dodges the jab that follows her half-hearted attempt to make the hit. She avoids his blows, but before long they feel too practiced, as if he's merely toying with her.

She bides her time, trying to get a better rhythm of his movements in order to find an opening while simultaneously trying to avoid getting mauled by one of those all-too-sharp talons. It's a close call, but when she sees the opening, she throws a fierce punch at his abdomen. It lands, and he stumbles back. She catches the wild amusement in his face, and in a split second he's countered, recovered with such speed that she doesn't have time to pull back from her attack. His arm smacks across her ribcage.

Shepard lands with a harsh thud on the mat.

For what seems like an eternity, her eyes are trained on the metallic tiles on the ceiling with dulling interest. Her heart beats rapidly against her chest, and her burning lungs struggle to replace the air knocked out of them. She blinks as a face suddenly towers over her.

"Are you alright?" Ferox asked tentatively.

She blinked again and nodded, "Just—" she winced, "just help me up."

He obliged, and lifted her onto his arms. Instinctively, she wrapped her arm around his neck, glaring.

"_Not what I meant_."

He shrugged and set her feet on the ground.

She looked at Clovis, clearly appreciative of the situation as he stood with the referee woman. He chuckled, "Looks like you lost."

"Yeah," Shepard walked over to him, her ribcage cracking uncomfortably as she moved. She was pretty sure she hadn't broken anything, but that did nothing to quell the soreness. "Quite an arm you got there."

"I've earned my strength," he offered his hand and Shepard, mildly surprised at the sudden gesture, took it. "If you're willing, perhaps you can earn your strength as well."

She nodded. "I plan to."

"Good. I expect you here in twenty hours."

"Understood." She said, smiling.

"In the meantime," Ferox interjected, "I'll get her to the med-bay."

Clovis turned away without another word and riled his group up, another sparring match beginning behind them as Ferox led Shepard back upstairs.

"You impressed him," Ferox remarked as they waited for the elevator.

"You think so?" Shepard asked, disbelieving.

He nodded, "Clovis is…" he paused, trying to think of the right word. "Difficult."

"So I've noticed."

"But he's a good man, hard-headed, but good."

Shepard was about to ask for more when the elevator doors opened and she was greeted by an unexpected set of features—human, to be precise. He has a head of blond hair, and a kind, friendly face. His dark eyes widen as they meet hers.

"Shepard!" The suddenly enthused man cried, the model of the Normandy in his arms cradled with the caution and tenderness more suited for holding newborn child than a scale replica. "Aelia said you boarded, I was looking for you so you could—"

He backtracked quickly, "F-ferox, Sir," he saluted clumsily, and Ferox resisted the urge to laugh.

"I'm Engineer William Hughes," he explained, stepping out of the elevator, "and it's really good to meet you, Shepard—ah, Commander."

"Good to meet you too," Shepard said, shaking his hand. Then, pointedly noticing his prized possession, "I see you collect models."

He nodded, "It's an old habit, really. I was hoping for an autograph, if it's not too much trouble."

She obliged and added her signature to the hull of the miniature ship. William thanked her profusely, "I should let you go. I really appreciate this, Shepard. If you ever need anything, let me know. It's nice to have another human on board," he looked apologetically at Ferox, "no offense, Sir."

Ferox shrugged, "None taken."

"See you around," he waved and went through the doors to engineering.

"Wait a minute," Shepard frowned, leaning against the interior of the elevator.

Ferox looked up, "Hm?"

"Is he…that's Will, so is his wife really…"

"Aelia?" Ferox chuckled, "Yeah. They've been married now for three, maybe four, years."

Shepard fell silent, and he couldn't help but notice the dejection in her features.

"Good for them," she said frankly, pushing her own personal issues aside. "Everyone deserves happiness."

"Yeah," Ferox agreed, eyes still upon her. "Everyone."


	13. Obligations

In memory of my laptop. And thanks for putting up with my long absence.

* * *

Garrus stood uniformly on the slightly raised platform of the communications terminal, waiting to be transferred to a secure channel. Truth be told, he had always viewed the increasingly restrictive communications protocol with quiet distaste, another corner they were being backed into by the ongoing conflict, having no choice but to carefully guard every bit of information, almost to the point of appearing paranoid.

But things were different now with Shepard onboard; Garrus felt an almost dire, intrinsic need to keep her safe, even if it meant triple checking feeds for possible security breaches and restricting non-crucial transmissions for the crew.

There was a small beep from the terminal as the transmission came through. It took a few seconds for him to realize he would not be speaking to one of his superiors for briefing, as was usually the case; rather, it was his father that greeted him.

"I wasn't expecting you, father," he admitted after a brief but telling pause. "I wasn't made aware that you had left Palaven."

His father glanced at his surroundings, as if to say he hadn't expected to be brought up to Menae either. "I was contacted by Quintus hours ago for a personal favor," he explained. "Apparently he wanted me to speak to you personally to ensure that his best interests were being looked after," he looked somewhat ruffled by the situation, something about the way he spoke. "His daughter, mainly. But there's also the issue of having his trading routes disrupted."

"I see," he muttered, knowing full well that the extent of his responsibilities when it came to Varia's family usually went beyond his oath to her. Still, some small part of him loathed that obligation, and looking at his father's weary gaze, he could see he wasn't the only one. That, and Quintus was a hard man to please.

Marrying up was a privilege in turian culture, a way to social advancement; that Garrus was engaged to join one of the most powerful families in Palaven was commendable, something to look forward to. And he seemed to be, for the most part, settling into a predictable routine. He put up with his duties to Varia's family for her sake, and furnished her with displays of devotion in public. In between his missions, they would meet in the Citadel, far from the ongoing conflict, and coop themselves up in a rented room. In that private, isolated space, they spoke, shared stories, laughed...made love.

But even those moments of intimacy felt like another requirement to fill, another part he had to play as he followed along a scripted path, fulfilling what was expected of him. It was something his father knew, and grudgingly accepted. After Shepard there was nothing left for him; at least this way his son had direction, something to get him up every morning.

"How is she?"

Garrus felt his mandibles clasp tight to his face, suddenly averting his eyes. His mouth felt terribly dry just then, and he could say nothing besides addressing the obvious.

"So they told you."

His father nodded, his eyes probing but sympathetic. "Only those directly involved with the initiative are aware of her true location," he explained. "I was the exception, though I like to think it is because I am your father...and not because there is something I need to worry about."

"Well I'm fine. I don't need you keeping an eye on me."

"Regardless, " his father said, "I will remain on Menae for however long our superiors determine I need to be. If you ever need to talk, I'll be here."

"She's here, father, " Garrus snapped. "What else is there to say?"

He apologized nearly immediately for his outburst. Only when he looked down at himself did he realize he was shaking. He swallowed hard.

"It still doesn't feel real," he whispered, "but she's here, the same as before...except everything has changed around her and I can't be there for her, not the way I would've been there before."

"Garrus, you can't help what's happened," his father reminded.

"No. And if there's something my years have taught me it's that life isn't fair. But I thought maybe, just maybe, it could have made an exception for her. Like she hasn't gone through enough with the war, watching her friends die in front of her... and now this?"

"Then the least you can do is be there any way you can."

"Yeah," Garrus replied, ignoring the pang in his chest as he recalled Shepard's words to him. 'We're as good as strangers,' she'd said, and it was like another burden had settled on his shoulders. But what could he say? In her eyes he had betrayed her.

They disconnected soon after. Garrus remained in front of the blank screen for a few moments, enough to regain his composure before returning to the deck.

"Sir, Jane just checked out of the med-bay," Aelia pointed out as he went in to brief her on their next trajectory. He stared blankly at the pilot for a moment, her words echoing in his mind and bringing forth a million deadly scenarios, not all of them necessarily possible.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded, forgetting about his briefing and heading down to the elevator. Aelia's voice followed him to the intercom inside.

"Nothing major, apparently. William said he caught her coming up from the training rooms with Ferox and she seemed fine."

"She's in no condition to be down there," he seethed.

"Really? Clovis seems to think she is. He's got her scheduled for training."

"Clovis? Don't tell me she-" the doors swooshed open. "Forget it. I'll find out myself." He went down the path to Shepard's quarters, hesitating as he saw Ferox lounging just outside her door, speaking with her. She was on the other side, and saw him instantly, giving him a brief glance before turning back to Ferox and shutting the door unceremoniously.

"Geez," Ferox complained, "I can't believe she wouldn't even let me give her a second opinion."

"How bad is it?" Garrus asked, as Ferox walked over.

"Just a bit of bruising, from what the doctor mentioned. She'll live. "

Garrus frowned, "She shouldn't have been hurt in the first place."

Ferox slowed his pace to to the elevator, Garrus overtaking him by a few paces.

"What are you suggesting, that she stay in her cabin all day? You do know who we're talking about, right?"

"I promised I'd keep her safe," Garrus said solidly, glancing at Ferox over his shoulder. "That's what I intend to do."

Ferox crossed his arms in response. "You're not doing her any favors with this whole... act. Since when were you ever overbearing?" A few crewmen passed them in the hall and saluted, receiving absent nods in return.

"She needs time to heal," Garrus insisted, summoning the elevator. "Tell Clovis she isn't fit for training just yet."

"As your second in command, I have to disagree. You'll only be making it harder for her if you treat her like she's incapable." The doors closed behind them, Garrus stared at him tersely.

"If she gets hurt-"

"She'll be fine. You've always said she was strong."

"Just..." Garrus ran a hand through his face wearily. "Keep me updated, _please_."

They arrived on their floor.

"Of course, sir."


	14. Reliance

Finally! I can honestly say I never want to go this long in between chapters. I missed you all ;_;

* * *

Shepard sighed, sitting quietly by herself on one of the tables in the cafeteria. To say she was exhausted from today's training would be a vast understatement. Every muscle in her body was sore; muscles that had once been on the verge of complete atrophy were being put through their paces once again. Physical therapy had given her only the most basic skills back, but this, well, this was a whole new level. Still, it was...satisfying.

"Eating alone?"

Shepard watched the green-eyed turian slide into the seat across from her, his face smiling. "Looks like it," she shrugged. The cafeteria was nearly empty, the group she had been training with had been dismissed by Clovis earlier, so by the time she made it into the cafeteria they were long gone, as was her chance to get to know them.

"Mind some company then?"

"Well, I'd hate to make you get up."

Ferox chuckled, "How was your first day? Any more trips to the medbay?"

"None," she said with some humor, "surprisingly."

The ridges above his eyes shifted, "Clovis gets a little carried away sometimes. If he's going too hard on you, I could tell him to ease up."

"I'd complain if he wasn't," she told him, taking another bite of her meal.

"Good."

"You know, I just realized I never asked you about...well, you."

Ferox grinned, "I thought you prefered an air of mystery between us."

"Well I'll admit, we didn't exactly start off on the right foot," she curled her fingers over her other hand, remembering how wary she had been of him that night. "You never mentioned being General Corinthus' son."

There was only a tiny spark of suprise in his eyes. "Did Garrus tell you that?"

"No. But does that really matter?"

"I guess it doesn't." He was silent for a moment, and Shepard felt that she was stepping on fragile ground. "I do what I can to escape my father's name."

Shepard frowned, "Are you not on good terms?"

"We are," he exhaled, a dull rumble. "It's because of my father that I was even allowed to stay with my squad when my biotics surfaced. He made such a commotion when they considered transferring me." He shook his head, as if embarrassed to admit the fact. "They had no choice but to put up with me."

She smiled, "I'm glad he stood up for you."

"I am too. Back then I wasn't. My team hated me for what I was, and they knew the only reason I was still with them was because of my father. I hated that distinction more than anything." For a moment, Shepard swore she heard a trace of bitterness in his voice. "I had to work twice as hard for them to even give me an official title." He snorted, "They never thought I'd get very far."

"Guess you proved them wrong," Shepard remarked.

"It's a kind thought," he replied gravely, "but I didn't do it alone. I owe a lot to him and that's not how I wanted it to be. To this day I find myself wondering if I was ever really good enough to do it on my own or if I became too dependent on my father's name."

"Are you really asking that?" She gave him an exasperated look. "Your father wanted to give you a chance because he knew you were good enough to get this far. You're a damn good biotic, Ferox, no one gave you that."

"Garrus always mentioned your pep talks. I just never imagined I'd get one in person," he laughed, but relented. "You're right." he said somberly. "But however far I've come, I've never been a very good son. That's what happens when you try to escape your father's name; you forget that it belongs to the man who brought you up in the first place."

"Do you speak to him often?"

"I went years without speaking to him before the war. We started communicating just before the Reapers hit, we have been ever since."

"He's a good man, your father," she gave a moment of pause. "And so are you."

His mandibles flared in a grin, "Well that's a relief. There may be hope for me yet."

"Sure," Shepard chuckled.

"I better get back," he said, nearly hesitant. "We'll be in Palaven soon."

"Palaven?"

"You haven't heard? We're dropping off our esteemed guest. Quintus isn't going to risk his daughter aboard a warship," he shrugged. "Anyway, I'll see you around."

Shepard finished the last of her meal and went down to her room, planning on showering and taking a few moments to relax after an exhausting training session.

She isn't expecting Varia. But somehow it seems predestined. Shepard stands quietly on the doorway as Varia stands beside the desk on the corner, looking at a photograph Shepard just happened to stuff into the nearest drawer. Shepard should be indignant, furious that she's been looking through her things while she was out of her room. She isn't.

"You all look so happy," she remarked, glancing at Shepard over her shoulder. She was still that stunning woman from the party, carrying herself with that subtle but undeniable grace. Even if she didn't seem the least bit remorseful for having been in Shepard's quarters for however long, Shepard had to give her points for boldness.

"We were." Shepard confirms.

"Even with the war going on?"

"It's times like those that teach you to enjoy the few moments you have with the people closest to you."

She set the photograph down. "What are your feelings towards Garrus?"

Shepard was visibly taken by surprise, but she moved past it, opting to take a seat at the foot of her bed. Varia turned away from the desk, facing her, and expecting an answer. "I'm not...he's not mine anymore," Shepard said with finality, "you have nothing to worry about."

Varia considered her words, her beautiful, painted face only showing the slightest vulnerability. "I will never be you," she muttered grimly, "I don't know what you did to make him love you that way," she gave a small bitter laugh, "perhaps I will think to ask you one day."

Shepard was silent, and she knew why she hadn't been bothered by her intrusion; Varia felt threatened by her. And in a way, Shepard felt sorry for that.

"I'm not you," she repeated, "but I was the one that picked up the pieces. I kept him from falling apart."

Shepard looked up at her. "I know."

"Goodbye Shepard," she turned to go, but turned to look at her one last time. "I only wish we weren't hindered by these circumstances, perhaps my gratitude wouldn't ring hollow...but thank you, for all that you did."

After she was gone Shepard took the picture from the desk and looked it over. It was her crew, Joker, EDI, Kaidan, James, Tali, Javik...everyone. She couldn't even remember whose idea it was to take a group photo, it was silly...but there they were, posing on the docks with their backs to the clear glass, in full view of the ships arching behind them.

Varia was right, they did look happy. It was as if there was no war going on and they were tourists stopping a C-sec officer so he could snap their photo. She felt a longing to be that woman in Garrus' arms again, to be that happy and surrounded by all those people she missed, but that wasn't an option now and she was going nowhere holding onto that memory. She set the photograph in the drawer, part of the million things she had in storage somewhere back on the Normandy.

She walked into the painfully small bathroom and turned on the shower faucet. A sigh escaped her lips at the exhaustion in her body and she stood under the spray for a long time before she dried herself off and curled up on the bed. She fell into an easy slumber, one so natural and welcoming that she wondered why she'd ever needed the medicine in the first place.

For a long time she had slept without dreaming; this time she saw the Crucible fire.


	15. Threshold

Thanks for sticking around, guys.

_Mass Effect belongs to Bioware. _

* * *

"You're improving, Shepard." Clovis held out a gloved hand to the woman sitting up on the mat. She grunted as she took his offered hand, "Sure doesn't feel like it from down here."

"Well now, I actually had to try to put you down this time," he replied, with some measure of self-complacency. "It's good to see that fight in you."

Shepard considered taking that as a compliment. After Clovis called it a day for the trainees, she pressed on.

"So when do you think I'll be out on the field?"

He watched the group marching upstairs, arms folded across his chest. He turned briefly towards Shepard, who, by the looks of it, wasn't planning on making it to the mess hall anytime soon.

"That isn't for me to decide."

Shepard frowned. "Why not? Don't you report my progress to Garrus?"

"I do. But it's not up to me to decide when or if you get to join in on missions. You will have to take that up with the Captain."

Shepard scoffed. "If I have to sit out one more mission in my room I think I'll mutiny."

Clovis chuckled. "Be patient, I'm sure he'll come around."

"Maybe," Shepard muttered, frustrated with such an ambiguous reply.

Even after a month of being on the Sapphrax she still felt that void, the feeling of not belonging. She tried to convince herself that being out on the field would straighten her out, bring in a sense of commitment, a firmer grasp on her place under Garrus' command. Garrus, however, seemed to have other ideas. None seemed to involve putting her in combat anytime soon.

"Can we go again?" Shepard asked, putting her mind from the subject.

Clovis nodded, "Eager to lose again, I see."

"You're not the first to underestimate me, you know," Shepard pointed out. "Most people learn to avoid that mistake."

They took position.

"Is that so?" Clovis queried, taking his stance. Shepard nodded silently, doing the same.

He lunged at her, with all the damaging intent of real battle. Shepard had learned over the past weeks that, while he was controlled enough that a landing blow wouldn't harm her beyond a few days of soreness, practice was taken as seriously as if one's life depended on the outcome.

She dodged a light blow and tried to move in, quickly blocked by a few quick hits that very nearly landed. Finally, she made a brief hit that he reciprocated just as quickly but with more force. She saw it then, the way his body pushed forward, the energy behind his movement. She was quicker, grabbing a hold of his arm and redirecting the hit, taking advantage of a brief opening in defense and delivering a hard kick to his ribcage. He stumbled backwards, his stance caving as he instinctively bent over.

She only made it a few steps forward before she heard the intercom above.

"Aelia to Clovis, we need you on the bridge immediately."

She glanced at Clovis, already recovered by this time and her chances of setting him on the ground long evaporated. "Not bad," he remarked. "We'll finish this next time."

She crossed her arms, far more upset at the interruption than she let on. "I'll hold you to that."

Aelia's voice came through again, "You better get to your quarters, Shepard. We've got hostile activity along a fuel depot in Enoch."

"Can I just stick this one out here?" She asked, now visibly annoyed.

"That's an order, Jane."

She rode the elevator with Clovis, who mused at the unfortunate turn of events. "They've been converging like this for a while. A tactical approach-choke the fuel supply and military ships are bound to suffer."

"Be careful out there." Shepard offered as she stepped out of the elevator. He gave a stern nod as the doors closed behind her.

She felt like a child being sent to her room. On her way in she was greeted by the guard stationed outside of her door. He was there in case someone breached the ship- a logical step, she supposed- but really, who did they think she was, some defenseless piece of cargo?

She was tired of complaining to Ferox, who said it was all under standard regulations and to Garrus who always told her-in that stern, resolved way of his-that it was all for the best and there was no use questioning something she couldn't change. It was infuriating, but she was under command and there was no second-guessing his orders further than that.

Days had evolved into weeks on the Sapphrax, carrying with them the novelty of having Commander Shepard on board. She had gotten used to the crew, learned names and traded war stories every now and then. She found a routine, one that left her with little time to contemplate what she missed.

It was only during times like this, when she was forced into the solidarity of her quarters, that her mind wandered and she began to mull over the past she was trying to move away from. She needed to be out there, to feel the familiar rush of battle.

In the meantime she preoccupied herself with reading. Mission reports, news, a novel or two, these were the things she distracted herself with during downtime. It seemed the quarians were commemorating a minor holiday on Rannoch and their embassy on the Citadel was promoting a small celebration in the Presidium.

Meanwhile, _Journeys with a Prothean_ was still on the galaxy-wide best-seller list. Shepard imagined Javik was living well from the royalties. The end of the book had mentioned him living on a remote island, away from the public eye. It was no wonder, really, Javik had always preferred solitude. But it went without saying that Shepard missed the Prothean.

There was a knock on the door, prying her away from the latest reports of a new Dalatrass being elected.

"What is it?"

The doors opened, "Ma'am, your presence has been requested in the war room."

Shepard quickly set down the datapad, letting him lead her one floor up. Ferox was presiding over a large projection of the view coming in from the visor on someone's helmet. He seemed too preoccupied to notice her immediately as he spoke a few orders over the comm.

"Shepard," he said over his shoulder, "figured you'd rather be here."

"You'd be right," she replied, walking up to the counter that ran around the projection, trying to make sense of the video feed, which seemed somewhat distorted.

"There's some interference around the perimeter," Ferox noted, he swiped at the map directly in front of him and it popped up beside Shepard. There were two groups of three points.

"The one further up is Clovis's squad," he told her, "Garrus is heading the rear."

She nodded, glanced up at the video. "Whose cam is on?"

"Fulvia," he replied, "but they're all equipped."

Another nod. "So what's going on?"

Ferox showed her a blinking point up ahead. "We've got extensive activity up there," he said, "it's possible they're setting up some sort of failsafe, they must know they can't hold the fuel station for long."

She frowned. "What kind of failsafe are we talking about here?"

"Most likely, we're talking explosives." He stated, smiling to himself as he saw her taken aback. "They can handle it," he added quietly, as if to reassure her.

She moved her attention back to the holographic screen, "And if turns out they can't?"

"Then we lose another fuel station," he said simply. "We can't afford that."

"Guess we can't afford a new team either," she muttered.

"Not likely-well, not one as good."

Clovis interjected, "_We've got activity directly up ahead. We're moving in_."

"_Copy that_," she heard Garrus muttering. "_I'm moving my squad down the maintenance shaft as planned_," he added, "_we'll hit them high at the meeting point_."

"Affirmative," Ferox said.

The enemy was still converging on the blinking point, Shepard noted, but some were moving down to provide assistance against Clovis's squad. In truth, it was all futile. The three turians dispatched them with relative ease, keeping a tightly controlled formation that had them taking ground at a steady rate.

"_We're at the point_," Garrus whispered, the low tones of his voice resonating.

"_Well don't let us keep you_," Clovis drawled, "_we're just handling most of the mercs here_."

Garrus chuckled, a low hushed sound. "_No, no, take your time. We insist_."

"_You just make yourself comfortable then, we've got a mech coming in_."

"They're well equipped," Shepard remarked, assessing the colossal machine. It was built with dual mounted turrets and a more resistant outer shell that seemed in all sides impenetrable. It had slowed down their progress to almost a full stop. It was giving them enough close calls that her hands were fists trembling with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation. She wanted to be there, _needed to be there._

"You'd be surprised at what these people can get their hands on," Ferox placed a hand on her shoulder. Their eyes met as he leaned in with that comfortable closeness again. "Don't worry."

She nodded wordlessly.

Then, as quickly as she turned her gaze back to the battle, a spark lit up under the mech, and it came to a hard stop as if the system had been compromised before a concentrated explosion shattered the lower half.

Shepard blinked. "Some sort of grenade?"

"Yes. We have our way of dealing with whatever they throw at us," he explained, watching the team moving forward, taking care of the stray mercs that had been scattered by the blast.

"_Glad of you to join us_," Garrus said over the comm.

"_You can start shooting any day now_," Clovis bit back, "_or have you forgotten how to use that rifle?_"

"_I wouldn't bet on it_." Then, with more gravity: "_The device at the center of the room, that's what they were arming_."

"_Roger that. We'll keep them away from it_."

The mercs fell in line, taking hits from both sides at once. It was over quickly, and immediately Fulvia and a man named Aktis went to work on figuring out what the device was at the center of the room.

"_Spirits be praised_," Fulvia breathed a sigh of relief, "_ it hasn't been armed yet_."

Garrus confirmed this, "_We'll contact Palaven and have them send a specialist to evacuate the device. Our job is done here_."

A cry was heard, barely audible. Clovis moved in, _"Looks like we have a hostage. Your call, Captain_."

"_Take him in_," Garrus ordered. "_He's too injured to put up a fight and we could use the intel. Ferox, see that we have arrangements for the prisoner_."

"Yes, sir."

"_On our way to the shuttle_."

Shepard looked at the turian beside her, "I didn't know we took prisoners."

"Sometimes," he replied. "We usually ship them off to a higher command to be taken care of. As a general rule we only transport them. These people typically operate out of self interest, if we can put enough pressure on them to talk, they usually give us valuable information."

"Is that always the case, though?"

"Sadly, it isn't."

"I see."

There was a moment of silence, as she watched the feed dissipate, now redundant as the Captain and the squads were loaded onto the shuttle.

Ferox smoothly draped his arm over her shoulder, as if this was a familiar thing to them. "You know, now that I think about it, I haven't been completely outright about my intentions."

She chuckled at the absurdity of that statement, since when was Ferox _not_ completely outright? He was cocky, bold and shameless. But over the last month they had grown close, that much was undeniable.

"_Intentions_, huh?" Shepard asked playfully, "And what might those be?"

Her fingers curling around his waist and yanking him against her hip. He tilted up her chin with his index and pressed his mouth against hers gently, probing for a reaction. She reciprocated his advance, pressing herself against his dark suit, feeling the solid plating of his torso underneath as she kissed him deeper.

"I don't know if I can give you what you deserve," she murmured, as they settled into a comfortable embrace. It hurt to say, but it would feel worse lying to Ferox. "I still love him."

He sighed against her scalp, breathing in her scent, "I know."


End file.
